Bad Faith
by MightierThanSwords
Summary: Harry and his friends have returned for their eighth year; the Dark Lord has fallen, and by rights this should be a peaceful year. But when strange things start happening at Hogwarts, Harry finds himself drawn to an unexpected figure from his past... -Work on this fic is paused for the moment, my apologies!-
1. Chapter 1

****A/N**: Alright. This is my first fic, and I'm really quite nervous. First of all, I _know_ that the title has been used before, but I couldn't bring myself to change it - my head said yes, my heart replied with a definite no. Sorry. Secondly, I hope I'll be able to update regularly, and that this will eventually get finished. I already have 12 chapters written, but I'm gonna post slowly, to give myself time to write ahead (I'm a very paranoid person).**

**Obviously this is not epilogue compliant, but it fits with almost everything else - however, Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple of other Death Eaters are running around free. You'll see why later.**

**And finally, a disclaimer. **As you've probably already gathered from the fact that I am most definitely not JK Rowling, I don't own this lot. If I did, I wouldn't be sharing Draco with you. (Sorry, but it's true.) I just couldn't let that awful epilogue stand without some serious contest.****

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

It was the shock of blonde hair that first alerted Harry to the presence of his ex-arch-nemesis, and it was the regal way the slender figure was upheld that confirmed his identity.

"Blimey, what the hell's _he_ doing here?" Ron asked incredulously, when Harry pointed Draco Malfoy out to his friends.

Hermione sighed in annoyance, tugging at her boyfriend's hair to straighten it out, and it was obvious from her demeanour that she'd answered similar questions many times before. "The same thing we are, Ronald. Finishing his education."

It had been a little over a year ago that the war had finally ended, and for the majority of the wizarding world, life was finally getting back to normal. This was reflected in Hogwarts castle, which now bore few signs of the battle that had raged there, and in the hundreds of children that were being admitted back into the school for the first time since the war.

Harry looked around the Great Hall absently. He remembered the scenes of death and destruction that had occupied this space not so long ago, but the Hall no longer showed any signs of that; instead, it looked just like it had in all his years of being at the school. He marvelled at the skill with which the castle had been restored, noting with relief that the Marauder's Map would most likely still come in useful.

Harry blinked through the series of memories that his return to the castle had dredged up. The image of Voldemort, face contorted in hatred, stood in this very room, juxtaposed too heavily with the warm, glowing atmosphere, impossible to reconcile. Instead, Harry surprised himself with an odd feeling of contentedness; all summer, he had doubted the decision to retake his final year of school, worried that the hideous memories would make the castle a bad place for him to be. But returning felt like the wisest choice, and Harry was gripped by a strong sense of returning home.

Sat with Harry, Ron and Hermione were a crowd of old friends, including Ginny and Neville, the latter of whom could be seen exchanging smiles with Luna Lovegood over at her table every few minutes or so. It seemed that a large majority of their year group – the only year given a choice about the matter, considering they were old enough to pursue a career now – had taken the bittersweet risk and elected to come back to Hogwarts.

And so, apparently, had Draco Malfoy.

Harry felt a grudging respect for the blonde Slytherin. He knew that the war had not exactly been easy on Malfoy, compounded by the animosity that the majority of people still felt for his family. Lucius was rotting in Azkaban, and the magical society had not forgiven his son and wife for their involvement with Voldemort, although testimonies had kept them out of prison themselves. It was brave of Malfoy to come back to Hogwarts, where Harry suspected he would be met with both a traumatising recollection of his past and a large dose of hatred from fellow students.

"... the houses this year, don't you think, Harry?"

Harry was jolted out of his reverie at the sound of his name, and realised that he'd been staring thoughtfully across the Hall at the blonde head sat at the Slytherin table. He forced his attention onto Hermione, who was watching him expectantly. "Sorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "I _said_, they've relaxed the house system a little this year, and I was asking you what you thought about it. Classes won't be separated out the same way they used to be; they're going to mix all four houses from now on."

Ron suddenly looked worried. "Wait, does that mean that we'll still get to play the Quidditch tournament and stuff? And we don't have to share dorms with the Slytherins, do we?"

"Yes, of course they're keeping Quidditch, and no they're not changing the dorms. They're leaving the house cup, too, although it's not supposed to be as important now," Hermione reassured him, seeming annoyed, but it was obvious that she was somewhat pleased at the chance to demonstrate her superior knowledge before the year had even started. "It was McGonagall's idea, though, to try and mix different houses more. They're trying to minimise rivalry, and stop some of the stereotyping."

_Well, if it works..._ Harry thought wryly. Something told him that the "stereotyping" and "rivalry" was too integral to the way Hogwarts functioned for it to be dissipated by a few mixed classes, but it was a nice gesture. Harry imagined it was the unspoken assumption that Slytherins were evil that the new system was designed to combat most of all.

The Sorting went quickly. The new 11-year-olds augmented the number of students who were repeating their first year, finding their seats with nervous glances and shaking knees, before McGonagall – who was taking over as Headmistress this year – stood to make a speech.

Harry was reminded painfully of Professor Dumbledore as McGonagall issued the regular warnings and notices. Once again, the Forbidden Forest was proclaimed to be out of bounds, and the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, ex-Auror Professor Carter, was introduced. It was clear from the look on many of the older students' faces that Harry wasn't the only one whose memory was being jolted, and he couldn't help glancing over at Malfoy – the Slytherin's face was drawn, and his posture closed, but there was no emotion on his normally expressive face. Harry expected he was fighting off memories of the night in the Astronomy Tower more than two years prior, and he felt another jolt of pity for his childhood enemy.

Then the speech was finished, and any uncomfortable memories from the last few years were gratefully abandoned as the traditional feast materialised on the tables. Chatter could be heard erupting through the Great Hall as students began to settle into the school year.

"Feels weird to be back, doesn't it?" Neville grinned across the table at Harry.

"Just a bit." He smiled back at his friend. Neville had grown up since the last time he was at Hogwarts; the shy, forgetful boy had been almost completely replaced with a confident and competent wizard. Most of the time. He still struggled with an understandable phobia of Cornish pixies. "I can't believe how many people have decided to retake the year."

Ron gestured wildly with a fork, speaking around a mouthful of food. "I can't believe I've let myself be talked into coming back to _school_." He glanced accusingly but fondly at Hermione, who Harry knew had spent months bothering his best friend until he consented to return to Hogwarts this year.

"It's for your own good, Ron," she retorted primly. "People will take you much more seriously if you have qualifications under your belt. Besides, _I _think it's nice to be back."

"I agree with Hermione," Ginny joined the conversation, looking up from the glass of pumpkin juice she was pouring herself. Her comment earned her a glare from her older brother, who clearly disliked being ganged up on. "I like how normal it feels to be in the castle."

Impressed at how easily she'd summed up his own opinion, Harry met her gaze, and gave her a rueful smile, which she returned. Even though their relationship had collapsed just half a year after it had properly begun – to the relief of both parties – the two of them were still close. Closer, maybe, as without the pressure of romance, their bond had developed into more of a brother-sister love, and they shared a way of thinking and a sense of humour that meant they got along very well.

"I see the staring and whispering has already started," Hermione noted with a frown, looking pointedly at Harry.

With a sigh, Harry acknowledged she was right. Ever since he'd stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express, students had been pointing at him or engaging their friends in murmured conversations as he'd walked past. A few had seemed hostile, although no one had openly said or did anything aggressive, and the majority simply seemed in awe – some had deigned to approach Harry for a handshake or kind word, and others had just gazed open-mouthed from a distance. The sorting and McGonagall's speech had seemed to distract them, but the staring had resumed when the food had appeared.

It had been more than a year since Voldemort had died, but memories of the war hadn't dulled in anyone's mind, not yet. Harry had known this would be the price to pay for returning to Hogwarts, but somehow the reality was a little more overwhelming than he'd expected... Not, however, that it would be any easier outside the castle, and he knew that the novelty of him would eventually wear off. Exams and homework tended to have that effect on students.

In all honesty, since the battle here at the school and Voldemort's death, Harry had started to get used to the attention that his role as the Chosen One had brought. He would gladly have exchanged it for a peaceful existence, but between his adoring fans and the unshakeable press, the chore of dealing with his unwanted celebrity status had started to dull into something as mundane as breathing.

Harry just hoped this year would be marginally more peaceful than the last few.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimer - they aren't mine, goddamn it. And here's where I veer away from JK's story a bit, but the changes I've made are pretty obvious.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Harry took his seat in Charms with little enthusiasm.

Ron threw himself into the chair next to him with a curse. "Damn, I forgot to do the Charms essay! Flitwick's gone mental on us this year. I swear, if I didn't need the bloody NEWT, I'd have dropped it ages ago."

Harry made a few noises of assent, but he wasn't really sympathetic to Ron's situation; he knew that his friend had spent the previous evening playing wizard chess as opposed to doing the work. However, he wasn't wrong – all subjects were more difficult this year, a result of the upcoming examinations.

Harry was mercifully saved the task of having to come up with a real response by the start of the lesson. Flitwick clapped his hands imperatively, and for the most part the class shut up. Flitwick had demonstrated impressive magical abilities during the war, and respect had increased for the tiny wizard. Besides, no one wanted to antagonise him into setting more homework than he already intended to.

True to McGonagall's word, the class was indeed mixed. Harry shared Charms with people he knew from all four houses; Ron, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan from Gryffindor, Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, and – sat not too far from Harry – Draco Malfoy from Slytherin.

The latter had been extremely quiet in the entire month that they'd been back at Hogwarts. Harry had half-expected the former school bully to return to his old ways, gathering a crowd of Slytherin underlings and terrorising the younger years. He knew his expectations of the blonde were unfair, but then, old habits died hard. However, Malfoy had kept his head very low ever since the year had started, even going so far as to retreat slightly from his old best friends Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson – much to many people's shock, the two of them were now a couple, despite expectations that Parkinson would marry Malfoy. Apparently, the war had changed the Slytherin more than anyone had expected. The cocky, sneering teenager that Harry had spent so many years despising had finally grown up.

Charms passed in a blur of note-taking and partially successful attempts at the spells they were supposed to be mastering. Although Harry had never adored the subject as such, he had never particularly struggled, but he found himself wishing Hermione's timetable had allowed her to join their Charms lesson. He could have done with a few helpful tips from her, and, after narrowly avoiding one of Ron's failed attempts at the _Geminio _spell which had been on track to duplicate his head, he acknowledged that his best friend would have benefitted from Hermione's help too.

All in all, it was a relief when the lesson ended. For Harry, at least.

"Mr Weasley, I see no evidence of your essay." Flitwick eyed Ron dangerously, who had apparently been on the verge of attempting to escape the lesson on the sly. Harry shook his head slightly in despair, and finished packing away his books, leaning against the edge of a desk by the door while waiting for his friend to be given his detention time.

Someone stopped in front of him. The smooth, drawling voice was familiar, but quieter than he remembered it. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry inclined his head. The Slytherin hadn't pulled out his wand, insulted him, or even sneered, which he took as a good sign, and when his ex-nemesis didn't move, Harry tried to break the uncomfortable silence. "How's... things?" he asked lamely.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly, but not threateningly. Harry noted the minor differences in his appearance; he was taller, towering over Harry by a good couple of inches, and slightly broader around the shoulders. His expression and demeanour, however, had changed the most; instead of emanating an unbridled superiority, he seemed to be watching his surroundings with a tentative mistrust. "They're fine," he replied shortly. "Thank you." He seemed to tack the last bit on as an awkward afterthought, and his voice was flat.

The two of them had called an uneasy, but apparently stable truce ever since Harry had returned the other's wand at the end of the war. Words like "thank you" would never have factored into one of their conversations before, unless snarled sarcastically, but things were different now.

"Surprised to see you back," Harry commented politely.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched unexpectedly into a ghost of his old smirk. "Me, too." It wasn't clear if he meant that he was surprised at Harry's or his own return to Hogwarts.

After a moment of silence, Harry realised suddenly he was stood in Malfoy's way. He moved aside, the non-conversation having reached the end of its pitifully short life, and the blonde swept past him with a cursory nod.

"Blimey, at this rate I won't have time to _sleep_," Ron hurried towards him, keeping his voice hushed so that the Charms professor couldn't hear his complaint. "Detention tomorrow evening... What did Malfoy want?" He nodded his head in the direction Malfoy had gone.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing."

"Right. What are we waiting for, then? It's lunch, and I'm starving. Come on!" Ron exclaimed, cramming his books carelessly into his back and setting a fiery pace in the direction of the Great Hall.

Harry was about to follow when something snagged his gaze. It was a book – a Charms textbook – sat unobtrusively on the desk that Malfoy had vacated.

Harry frowned in uncertainty, then hurried over to scoop up the book. He weighed it carefully in one hand, debating whether or not it would be easier just to give it to Flitwick to keep hold of until the next lesson – but there was homework set, and Harry would probably see Malfoy before the end of the day. He placed the textbook carefully in his bag next to his own, and followed his best friend towards the food.

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><p>Hermione gasped at the <em>Prophet<em>. "What are the Ministry _playing_ at?"

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, turning to his best friend. She looked up, her expression anxious, and met his gaze, before wordlessly handing the paper to him. He didn't have to look further than the front page to see what she was referring to.

_DEATH EATER ACTIVITY SUSPECTED_

_Despite reassurances that Aurors are working to the best of their ability to capture them, it seems that the Ministry are still unable to affect the capture of several dangerous witches and wizards. Although authorities have been searching for more than a year to discover the whereabouts of these criminals, there have been few breakthroughs, and many remain at large – including, among others, Alecto Carrow, Antonin Dolohov and the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange._

_Worryingly, the afore-mentioned wizards and witches – once loyal servants to the Dark Lord – may have surfaced for the first time since their disappearance. Just two days ago, two Muggles were killed in their homes in Wiltshire, with the cause of death unknown; it is suspected, although has not been confirmed, that they were murdered through use of the Killing Curse. Ministry officials refused to comment on the matter, but it is thought that (cont p. 5)_

The rest of the front page was taken up with pictures of the named Death Eaters. Harry saw the familiar faces of Carrow and Dolohov, before curling his lips up in a silent snarl of hatred as his gaze alighted on the image of Bellatrix Lestrange. He handed the _Daily Prophet _back to Hermione with clenched fists.

Ron frowned at them, abandoning the essay he was writing. "What's with you two?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and leant over Hermione's shoulder, taking in the article, his expression darkening as he did so.

"It's been over a _year_," Harry said in frustration, grinding his teeth together.

"Do you reckon it was really Death Eaters who killed those two Muggles?" Ron asked worriedly.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, but I think the more worrying thing is that the Ministry haven't got a clue either. It's not like they're much of a danger now that no one's, you know, leading them, but they should have found them by now."

Fingernails digging painfully into his palms, Harry breathed in sharply. "They should never have let them get away!"

"No, you're quite right, Harry," Hermione told him, her tone meant to placate him, but she seemed lost in thought. "Wiltshire... Interesting."

Harry wasn't listening. He didn't find the location of the attacks interesting at all. Instead, he was concentrating on reining in his frustration, feeling his fist clench and his head pound with a headache of fury; he was still desperate to make Bellatrix Lestrange pay for what she'd done. Memories of his godfather sprung unbidden into his mind, and Harry vowed – as he had done countless times – to avenge Sirius' death.

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><p><em>Footsteps pounded along the granite floor and frantic heartbeats kept time with them. He felt anger, a rage unlike anything he'd ever known before.<em>

_A wisp of dark cloak, mere shadow, flickered up ahead – his prey was close._

"_Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter," a voice cackled, mad, insane, more incensing than anything he'd ever known before. A maddening glimpse of the twisted face, the gleeful smile –_

"Crucio!"

_She fell to her feet, a shriek escaping her, but the cries of agony he had hoped for were not there. He saw green light, a wasted, once-handsome face, frozen forever in surprise..._

"_You need to _mean_ them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it!"_

_They were running again, beyond where the others could help, if they were still alive. All that mattered was that he caught her. "I'll kill you! I'll _kill _you!"_

_The words were met with a laugh, an oh-so-familiar laugh. He rounded a corner and came face to face with the warped visage, the vicious smile of murderous joy. His body froze, betraying him, as dark coils of shadow wrapped around him in a sickening embrace._

_A quiet cackle of triumph sounded from somewhere behind him, and now everything was turning black, taken over by the misting darkness that was enveloping him. _

_Just before he descended into the obscure shade that was looming so inevitably, words were whispered in his ear. "The little baby woke up fwightened, and fort what it dweamed was twoo –"_

Harry sat bolt upright, gasping, fumbling for his wand. His dream seemed to follow him, taunting him, and he cast a wordless _Expelliarmus _before he'd even gotten control of his waking mind, eyes seeing shadows in the darkness.

Then everything caught up to him. He dropped his head into his hands, taking a deep shuddering breath, and slowly but surely regained control of himself.

Of course. This nightmare was not new. Although it had been a while, Harry had been jolted from sleep plenty of times by the image of his godfather's killer, chasing her down but upon catching her, never able to do more than just stand in horror as Bellatrix Lestrange's face loomed before him. The feelings of helplessness were worse than all but the most horrifying of his usual nighttime plagues, and no doubt brought on by the article in the paper that Hermione had shown him earlier.

Harry flopped backwards onto his pillow and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. He acknowledged grimly that his concentration would pay for this tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Disclaimer in chapter 1. I'll apologise now, it might be a little while before I get the chance to post again. I'm going away for a week in a couple of days and it's possible that I may not have internet. If I never post again, it's because I died of boredom due to not being able to read fanfiction for a whole 7 days.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Harry scanned the classroom and frowned. Where was Malfoy?

He held the Charms textbook that he had been hoping to return in his hand under his desk, but as Flitwick started talking and it became obvious that the absence of the blonde Slytherin would extend all lesson, he put it back in his bag, accepting that he wouldn't be able to return it to his owner. Although Harry had tried yesterday evening to give Malfoy the book back, he hadn't even be able to find him, and it seemed that Malfoy's need for the book wasn't as pressing as he'd believed it to be. Maybe he was ill.

Despite that solution making sense, Harry couldn't help but search for Malfoy again at lunch. Maybe he'd just skipped Charms to avoid getting into trouble over the essay he hadn't been able to do... But, looking over at the Slytherin table, Harry noted again a distinct lack of white-blonde hair. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

His search was noticed. "What's wrong?" Ron asked him.

"I was looking for Malfoy," he admitted. "To return his Charms textbook," he added hastily, seeing the alarmed look on his best friend's face. "He left it behind in class yesterday, and I figured he would need it."

"Didn't you hear, Harry?" Hermione tilted her head quizzically. "It's been all round school; apparently, someone played a cruel... _prank_ on him. He's been in his room since yesterday evening."

Ron snorted, as if he thought that playing pranks on Malfoy was the best way to deal with him, but Harry ignored him. He felt a strange surge of concern for the Slytherin, no doubt brought on by Hermione's sympathetic tone. "What happened?"

"It's awful, really. Someone ripped off the sleeves on all his clothing – the _left _sleeves." Hermione eyed Harry meaningfully.

The implications of what she'd said didn't escape him. _Left_ sleeves. Meaning that the scar on Malfoy's forearm, a result of the Dark Mark he'd been branded with, would coil visibly on his skin. Harry blinked in shock. "Who would do that?"

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Malfoy has plenty of enemies," Ron interjected. "Half the school would probably like to take credit for it."

"But it's just so..." Harry searched for the right word, and left the sentence unfinished when he couldn't find it.

"It _does _seem a bit excessive," Hermione agreed.

Ron glanced at the two of them with a bemused expression. "He's a git. I think he deserves it."

"That's not true," Harry snapped angrily, rounding on his friend. "Malfoy might not have been on the right side in the war, but that wasn't his fault. Without him, we wouldn't have even won. And he's different now."

His friends gaped at him, openly shocked by the outburst. Hermione recovered almost immediately, seeming to be of the same opinion, but Ron stared at Harry as if he'd just grown a second head. Thankfully, they decided not to press the subject, and the tense atmosphere dissolved when they were joined by Neville, who had his arm wrapped around a decidedly dreamy-looking Luna.

"Mind if we join you?"

Hermione beamed up at them. "Not at all." She poked at Ron, who shuffled sullenly along the bench to make room for the two new arrivals.

Lunch passed without another mention of Malfoy, but Harry couldn't turn his thoughts away from the Slytherin. He remembered the pale, vulnerable expression that Malfoy had worn throughout his trial after the war – Harry had been present in order to give a testimony that would keep the blonde from joining his father in Azkaban – and he knew that the Dark Mark was probably an unpleasant reminder of an even more unpleasant time in Malfoy's history, even without the prank that someone had deemed it amusing to play on him.

Eventually, he couldn't take it any more.

"I'll be a few minutes late to class, okay? Don't wait for me," Harry told Hermione, who nodded, then stood and left the Hall without any further explanation.

_I'm not sure why I'm bothering to do this_, he mused inwardly as he headed towards the Slytherin dungeons. If it didn't earn him a jinx or hex or punch in the face, he would be very surprised. But Harry wanted to try, anyway; he realised that he felt a strange feeling of protectiveness towards Malfoy. Years of intense rivalry and hatred aside, he owed the blonde a debt for not revealing him at the Manor, and for indirectly saving Harry at the final battle. And he had a Charms textbook to return.

Infinitely glad that he was carrying his Invisibility Cloak, Harry stopped in a deserted corridor just long enough to pull it out of his bag and throw it around himself. He noted with dissatisfaction that if he grew much taller, it would be a struggle for the cloak to cover just him, let alone other people too.

Getting into the common room presented a challenge. In the end, the issue was solved with the arrival of a second year Slytherin; Harry slipped in silently behind the boy, sending silent thanks towards him, however much it went against the Gryffindor grain. Once in, he cast his eye around the room. It looked almost the same as it had in his second year, dark and aristocratic; he found the green a little overwhelming, noting that he much preferred the warmth of Gryffindor Tower.

Then a second problem occurred to him. As he cast his gaze around the Slytherin common room – which was nearly empty, as he had expected in the middle of the day – Harry realised he had no idea where Malfoy's dorm was.

Cursing soundlessly, Harry pulled out his wand, muttered a near-silent "_Homenum revelio_", and breathed a sigh of relief when only one of the dorms was revealed to have a person in them. A series of increasingly complex unlocking charms – apparently Malfoy was quite adept at sealing himself into confinement – eventually granted him access to the dorm. Harry took a deep breath before opening the door.

"Who's there?" Malfoy's voice whipped out, low and dangerous, his silver gaze piercing as he searched for the intruder.

Harry pulled off the cloak, keeping his fingers tightened around his wand in case Malfoy reacted more violently to his appearance than expected. "It's me. Er, Potter."

Short of hexing him senseless, Harry didn't think he could have received a more angry and hateful welcome. Years of practise must have gone into the burning expression Malfoy threw him, and he saw the long, pale fingers gripping the Slytherin's own wand, all but hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, as he moved sinuously from his curled-up pose on his bed into an upright defensive stance. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" The question practically impaled Harry with the loathing it exuded, the words as short and sharp as blades.

Harry raised his hand – the one that wasn't holding his wand – in a peaceful gesture. "I was just –"

"Come to gloat, have you?" Malfoy sneered, wearing an oh-so-familiar expression. Despite himself, Harry felt his blood starting to boil in the old hatred he felt for the haughty blonde. It was far too easy to fall back into the patterns of enmity they'd spent so long setting out. "I bet you think _this _is really funny, don't you, Potter?"

Malfoy jabbed his arm in Harry's direction, snapping it out as if he were trying to land a blow. His fist was clenched tight and the veins stood out on his pale forearm, but it was the scar that caught Harry's attention; deep, ugly and recognisable for what it was – and completely unhidden by the shorn sleeve that should have covered it.

Harry gave a small gasp. He was hit again by the cruelty of what was apparently meant to be nothing more than a harmless joke. Malfoy's reaction, indeed, indicated that it was anything but. The edge of the sleeve where it had been cut was in tatters, as if an inexperienced first year had used _Diffindo _with an unsteady hand, and the expression on the Slytherin's countenance was just as ragged. Another surge of pity overtook him, but he suspected Malfoy wouldn't be pleased with that reaction, either.

"Well, Potter?" Harry looked up from the remains of the Dark Mark just in time to see the furious Malfoy charging at him. He had barely a moment to react before he was being shoved up against the door, a wand pointed threateningly at his throat like a knife. A steel-grey, half-mad glare had taken over and twisted the blonde's features, Malfoy's face mere inches from his own, and Harry realised just how much this had affected him. Maybe this visit hadn't been such a good idea. "Well? _Funny, is it_?"

Malfoy was all but screaming at him, wand tip digging painfully into his throat. Harry swallowed somewhat fearfully, and tried for a calming tone. "No, it's not. Look, I just came to give you back your Charms textbook –"

"Like I believe _that_." Malfoy's voice was now a dangerous hiss. "In fact, I bet this was your idea. Cook up your little plan with Granger and Weasel, did you? I bet you've been sat there all day, the three of you, laughing about your pathetic little joke. Stupid Malfoy, thinking he could just get on with his life. You sick _bastard_." Then, suddenly, with the last word, Harry was released. Malfoy staggered away and seemed to shrink, looking down and away as if exhausted, pulling his left arm against his body as if it pained him. Harry wasn't sure which version of the Slytherin he found more terrifying.

"I promise, Malfoy – Draco – I would never... Look, I'm really sorry," Harry finished weakly.

The Slytherin closed his eyes. He seemed the picture of calm, but Harry knew otherwise. "Get out."

"I –"

"Get out. _Please_." Harry blinked in shock at the word. Malfoy just raised a hand to indicate the door. "Before I hurt you, Potter."

Deciding that the forlorn figure before him was probably speaking sense, Harry hastily tugged the Charms textbook from his bag and placed it carefully on the floor, before throwing his Invisibility Cloak around himself and making a beeline for the exit. One last glance over his shoulder at Malfoy revealed his old nemesis to be hunched over, face buried in his hands, looking so wounded and vulnerable that Harry couldn't quite believe this was the same arrogant boy that he had always pictured Malfoy to be.

Then he beat a hasty retreat, before he was cursed into something that didn't bear thinking about.

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><p>Sprawled in an armchair in the common room just half an hour later, Harry received the reactions he'd been expecting from his two best friends as he recounted the story. A grudgingly impressed Ron discussed the topic with an excited gleam in his eyes, as a quieter, disdainful Hermione projected worry from behind the textbook she was studying.<p>

"Seriously, Harry, I don't know why you bothered going to see the tosser," Ron told him earnestly. "I'm surprised you still have your head."

"Me too," Harry muttered in reply.

Hermione glanced at him disapprovingly. "It _was _a stupid thing to do. He could have really hurt you – I heard that he was pretty upset..."

"Yeah, he was." Harry fixed her with a piercing look. "Practically unhinged. I've never seen – well, it doesn't matter, anyway."

"I know you feel bad for him, Harry," Hermione moved to put a hand on his shoulder. "But it's not your fault. No one would wish what Malfoy went through on anyone, but you could never have stopped it."

"Harry went through a lot more!" Ron protested indignantly. "And if you remember, it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for us, either. You don't see anyone else going round attacking people."

"_You _weren't forced to serve Voldemort and have a hideous mark branded onto your arm!" Harry snapped at his friend. A second later, he was gaping in shock along with the others at his own words and anger. "Wow, Ron, I'm sorry," he said, with feeling, reaching out to steady himself.

"No worries, mate," Ron replied, somewhat faintly. He blinked at Harry a few times before returning to the book he'd been pretending to read beforehand, no doubt work that his girlfriend had coerced him into doing.

Harry felt Hermione's astute gaze on him for the rest of the evening.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: See Ch1 for disclaimer. I also should probably have put a warning about bad language on somewhere, too, but if you've read this far you've probably already realised that...**

**A quick thank you to anyone who has read or reviewed this fic at all - you guys make me want to keep writing and you've all made me a very happy person :D ****Since I got such a good response, I decided to post Ch4 before I went away. The plan is to post a new chapter every other day (at least when I get back from holiday in a week), and at the moment it's looking like it'll be around 20 chapters long. More is coming, I promise!**

**I'd also like to take a sec to send much gratefulness in the direction of my wonderful friend and beta, FalsettoSlumber. Not only has she spent her valuable time reading through and helping me with this fic, but she's also a great writer herself, so I would recommend that you have a peek at her stuff too!**

**Sorry, sorry, very long A/N. I'll shush now.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Morning dawned, bright and cold. For the first time during the whole school year, there was a hint of frost, heralding the imminent arrival of winter. Harry had shrugged on a thick cloak and even wore a scarf – in bold Gryffindor colours, of course – tightly around his neck.

"Hey, Harry!" An eager voice sounded from behind him, and Harry turned to see Dennis Creevey waving excitedly at him. A flicker of guilt shot through him as Harry remembered Colin, Dennis' older brother; yet another casualty of the war. He replied in kind to the excitable boy, earning himself a grin that the Cheshire cat would have been proud of.

Harry strolled through Hogsmeade with a feeling of contentment. He had been delighted upon seeing the magical village properly, realising just how much had survived the war. Honeydukes was still as popular as ever, Madam Puddifoot's was still the ideal couple's retreat, and the Shrieking Shack remained as upright and haunting as Harry had ever known it. He acknowledged that one of the most interesting places to visit was the Weasley twins' – well, George's now, he thought with a tightening of his expression – joke shop. It certainly seemed popular with students of all ages.

The wind was biting as he ducked into the Three Broomsticks, following Ron and Hermione's lead, and he was thankful for the close and cosy atmosphere of the place. Harry decided, however, that it had been worth braving the dropping temperatures in order to get away from the schoolwork and studying that had started to pile up, even just for a day.

"Three Butterbeers, please," Harry told a smiling Madam Rosmerta, exchanging pleasantries and the appropriate money. He turned to see Ron and Hermione claiming a small table in the corner of the warm pub, and gave a half-smile of satisfaction.

"There you go, love," the pub's landlady beamed at Harry. "Right back with the other one." Two full tankards were placed on the bar, but before the third could join them, a figure appeared in Harry's peripheral vision. He turned, and recognised the white-blonde hair with a mild shock.

"Malfoy," Harry said awkwardly, remembering uncomfortably their last unfortunate encounter a few weeks before. Thankfully, Malfoy's wand was nowhere in sight, both hands on the bar, and he didn't seem to be considering attacking Harry again, so he relaxed slightly.

The Slytherin only nodded in acknowledgement, a stiff, formal movement that seemed well-practised. He ordered a Butterbeer for himself and coins clinked; it was mere seconds before his own drink was set down in front of him.

"Go on, Potter." Malfoy indicated the Butterbeer on the bar and Harry looked at him in surprise. "Hurry back to Granger and Weasel. I can wait."

Harry frowned briefly, but nodded when he saw the lack of a smirk on the Slytherin's face. The Butterbeer seemed to be an apology for Malfoy's attack and accusation in the Slytherin dorm. He picked up the drink. "Thanks, Malfoy."

He thought he heard a dry "Don't mention it," as he walked away.

"Finally," Ron grumbled, as Harry set a Butterbeer on the table before him.

Hermione elbowed him absently, accompanying it with an admonishment about manners. "Just because you wanted to get the chance to chat up Madam Rosmerta," she teased, a twinkle in her eye. "I've always had competition, haven't I?"

Ron reddened, clearly confirming her words, despite trying to deny them hurriedly. Harry grinned at the sight. Ron and Hermione had been practically inseparable since the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry gave them his heartfelt blessing; the two were good for each other. And, despite initial worries, their relationship had if anything brought the trio closer together.

"Oh, Harry, I meant to ask you," Ron said suddenly. "When's the next Quidditch practise?"

"Er, I'm not sure," he frowned. "I'm hoping everyone can do this Thursday evening..."

This year Harry had been given the Gryffindor team to captain again. Despite the large loads of schoolwork he ploughed through during his spare time, he was adamant that he would find or make time for Quidditch; this was his last year, and Merlin help him if he didn't win Gryffindor the cup.

Tryouts had allowed him to keep much the same team as he'd had the last time he'd captained the team, including a somewhat more confident Ron as keeper. Their first match against Hufflepuff had gone extremely well, with Gryffindor winning with a lead of over 100 points, and Ron in particular had made some impressive saves. Apparently, assisting in the downfall of the Dark Lord did wonders for your flying skills; Harry suspected that a couple of well-aimed, very sneaky Confundus charms on Hermione's part also helped when things were going badly.

Conversation turned away from Quidditch, and Hermione and Ron started discussing – well, arguing over – Ron's most recent Potions essay, which apparently he had asked for help on. Harry turned his attention to his Butterbeer and his thoughts, and within minutes, he'd drained the tankard. He was about to put it down when, feeling a wave of dread beginning to wash over him, something horribly familiar caught his eye.

Harry stared in disbelief at the bottom of his empty drink, sure that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. The horror took over fully when he realised that he was seeing perfectly fine.

There, twisting undeniably in the dregs of the Butterbeer, was the Dark Mark.

Harry whipped his head around in every direction, gripping his wand automatically under his cloak, searching with narrowed eyes for the culprit. His heart hammered in his chest – who could have put it there? Someone who knew the spell; there weren't many witches or wizards who did, and of those, only a handful hadn't been evil. His gaze alighted on Malfoy, sat alone in the darkest spot in the pub he could find, but no, _Malfoy_ wouldn't have done it, Harry was sure...

"Harry?" Hermione's alarmed voice snapped him out of it. He turned, breathing heavily, to see his two best friends watching him with concern and confusion. "What's wrong?"

"I just..." Harry glanced surreptitiously back at the tankard – and saw nothing there. The Mark had completely disappeared, leaving him to suspect that he'd just imagined the whole thing. "It doesn't matter."

Ron threw him a strange look, but Harry was spared any questions by the arrival of Neville, Luna and Ginny. They appeared suddenly, clutching their own drinks, and pulled up chairs, so that the table was almost completely crowded.

Ginny ended up opposite from Harry, and they exchanged a secretive, long-suffering glance as everyone sat down. Neville and Luna, much like Ron and Hermione, were sat close to each other, arms wrapped around each other's waist; Harry suspected that Ginny been left out of a few conversations over the course of the day.

"Hey, Harry!" Neville greeted him brightly.

"Hi, Neville," Harry grinned. "Luna."

The dreamy-looking Ravenclaw girl smiled beatifically at him. Harry liked the serene atmosphere Luna seemed to take with her everywhere she went. "It's nice to see you, Harry. Well done in the game against Hufflepuff, by the way; I'm surprised you could concentrate with so many Green-billed Warblers around."

Harry wisely decided to leave well enough alone, and was dragged almost instantly into a conversation with Neville and Ron over the afore-mentioned Quidditch match, even while the three girls debated the pros and cons of pygmy puffs.

It was nice to be normal and carefree, especially surrounded by his friends. _This_, he thought happily to himself, was why he'd fought so hard against Voldemort for so long. This freedom to spend time with his friends and grow up like average teenagers. This feeling was what had kept him going, even when it had seemed like there was no hope – a feeling worthy of producing a powerful Patronus.

Harry had finally relaxed, putting the Dark Mark incident entirely out of his mind, when the peaceful atmosphere in the Three Broomsticks was interrupted. The door slammed open, rattling the entire building, making more than a few people spill their drinks as they leapt out of the seats in fright. A large figure in the doorway blocked out the light from outside. The silhouette was easily recognisable.

"All students back ter Hogwarts," Hagrid announced gruffly. Harry blinked in surprise. "Professor McGonagall's instructions."

Credit had to be given to the students – despite mumbling, confused chatter and a general overriding curiosity to find out _why _their visit to Hogsmeade was being cut short, they did what they were told. Maybe it was just because none of them wanted to face the wrath of the Headmistress.

Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and turned to Harry, eyes wide. "I wonder what's happened?"

"Come on," Harry set off, threading through the gaggle of departing students to find Hagrid, who stood patiently just outside the door to the Three Broomsticks to check for stragglers.

"Harry," Hagrid smiled. "Nice ter see yeh. Best be gettin' outta here, though, you lot."

"What's happened, Hagrid?" Hermione appeared, dragging Ron.

Hagrid made a shooing motion. "Nothin' fer you ter worry abou'! You should be gettin' back ter Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "If we're in danger, we have a right to know!"

Flicking between their indignant gazes, Hagrid sighed, apparently giving in. "Alrigh', because it's you three... There's bin an attack, not far from school. Professor McGonagall wants everyone inside the wards."

Ron whistled in shock, eyebrows raised, at the same time Harry asked, "Attack? Was it the Death Eaters again?"

"Harry, keep yer voice down!" Hagrid hushed him frantically, looking around hastily to check no one had heard. "You could get me inter trouble fer tellin' you tha'."

"Where was the attack?" Harry asked in a lower voice, almost a whisper.

"On'y a couple o' miles from Hogsmeade," came the troubled reply. Hagrid was bending almost double so that they could hear his quiet words.

Hermione gasped. "Was anyone hurt?"

A look of pain seemed to cross Hagrid's face. "I shouldn't be tellin' yer this, but they killed someone. A witch. But I'm not sayin'," here he cast a glance at Harry pointedly, "that it was tha' Lestrange woman an' her lot."

Harry clenched his fists. He didn't need evidence to know who was responsible.

"Anyway, you three, yeh've bin hangin' around long enough. You'd best be gettin' back ter school, I think. Go straigh' there, righ'?"

After promising that they would make no detours, Harry, Ron and Hermione set off back to the castle, joining a steady stream of students hurrying back through Hogsmeade. A lot of the younger years seemed scared, everything between "mildly curious" and "coming up with conspiracies" was present on the faces of the older years, and the rest were just annoyed at their day out being cut short so unceremoniously.

Ron pitched his voice so that anyone nearby would be out of earshot. "D'you reckon it _was_ the Death Eater lot?"

"Who else could it be?" Harry grasped onto the topic enthusiastically. "I mean, you saw Hagrid's reaction when I asked. I wish we knew more about what happened, though, it would be –"

"We shouldn't have to _do_ this any more!" Hermione interrupted forcefully, making both the others jump, and it was obvious that she was perilously close to tears. "We've earned the right to some peace, haven't we?"

Clearly surprised by her outburst, Ron wrapped a comforting arm around Hermione's waist. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed, holding her against him. "We don't have to worry. It's not like they'll be getting into the castle any time soon, anyway."

Harry didn't comment, but he thought back to the ominous snake and skull he'd seen in the Three Broomsticks, and decided he wasn't so sure.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: No, I don't hate Draco, however much it is starting to look that way. I'm sorry, my love, for what I'm putting you through! *weeps* But then JK was pretty mean to you, too. If I owned you... well, let's not go into that ;)**

**It took a lot of effort to get somewhere where I could post this chapter, and it might be a while before I can post the next. I really want to update regularly but getting dragged off to the middle of nowhere for a week is very counterproductive... I know I'd rather be at home, writing, but what can you do?**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

"I really don' think tha' they coulda pulled their way free. I'd tied 'em up tigh', yeh see. Besides, they're not the sort o' beasts that jus' run away..."

Harry looked on in sympathy as Hagrid tried to explain to a sharp-eyed Professor McGonagall that the three hippogriffs responsible for attacking Draco Malfoy had been secure when he'd left them. Hagrid was twisting his large hands uncomfortably, visibly quailing under the Headmistress' stern stare, but Harry believed him; Hagrid was never lax when it came to dealing with animals, from a simple, if disgusting, flobberworm, to the disastrous baby dragon Harry remembered from his first year at Hogwarts.

"Rubeus, while I'm sure that you take every precaution in dealing with these beasts, I trust you understand the gravity of the situation," McGonagall's tone was regretful, and she looked at Hagrid with a somewhat sorrowful expression on her face. "You must remember what happened in Mr Malfoy's third year at school."

"Professor, that was Malfoy's fault," Harry interrupted, stepping forward. "In the third year, I mean. Hagrid warned him not to insult Buckbeak, if he'd just listened then he wouldn't have –"

"Thank you, Mr Potter, that's quite enough," McGonagall cut him off. She turned back to Hagrid. "I'm sorry, Rubeus, but if Mr Malfoy and his parents decide to press charges, they will no doubt win their case."

Harry saw Hagrid's face fall, and offered his friend silent sympathy. He remembered how badly Buckbeak's death sentence had affected him, and knew that although he and Hermione had managed to help that one single hippogriff, the miraculous escape of three more would arouse plenty of suspicion. If Malfoy _did_ decide to cry and make a fuss over this second attack, then Stormfeather, Ravenwing and Swallowtail would suffer the fate that Buckbeak had narrowly avoided.

Harry had seen it all. By virtue of similar timetables, he had been on a free period at the same time as Malfoy, and had decided to take a break from poring over textbooks and scrolls in order to spend a quiet hour by the lake; after a solid week of nightmares, apparently brought on by the attack near Hogsmeade and the knowledge that _she _was so close, he was just too tired to focus properly anyway. Apparently, the Slytherin had made a similar decision, albeit for different reasons – or maybe Malfoy was just more up to date with his schoolwork.

The three hippogriffs had appeared out of nowhere, circling like a pack of vultures against the grey cloud of the late autumn sky. Harry had narrowed his eyes in confusion, not sure why the creatures had been allowed to fly free like that, especially not_ together_. From where he was, they looked like birds in the sky, and Malfoy below them had barely been visible.

And then they had dived, dropping out of the sky at breathtaking speed, straight towards the instantly recognisable blonde head below.

Harry's heart had almost jumped out of his throat in its enthusiasm to hammer out a frantic rhythm on the inside of his ribcage. His wand had been in his hand before he even consciously realised he'd grabbed for it, but he had been too far away to do more than watch.

Harry cringed at the memory. He knew that if Malfoy had looked up just a fraction of a second later than he had, the vicious swipe of Stormfeather's talons could easily have killed him. As it was, he had barely had time to duck, rolling and casting what must have been a hasty Shield charm as the three hippogriffs completed their dive.

With an eagle's shriek of rage that Harry had heard even at such a distance, the creatures had wheeled away, repelled by the Shield charm. Malfoy had gotten to his feet – Harry suspected at the time, although he couldn't be sure from this distance, that the Slytherin was shaking. He'd raised his wand just in time to knock the outstretched pitch black wingspan of Ravenwing from the sky as the hippogriff angled an impressive aerial manoeuvre towards him.

Ravenwing had rolled across the ground and struggled to his mismatched feet almost instantly before charging at Malfoy, this time making his attack from the ground. At the same time, Swallowtail had attempted an attack from the sky, and then the blonde had been completely obscured in a whirlwind of feathers and hooves.

Harry had started running, wand outstretched. He'd known he was still much too far away to help Malfoy, but if he could get there before the hippogriffs killed the stupid bastard –

Stormfeather had rejoined the fray and Harry had felt his feet moving faster almost of their own accord. Everything had turned into shapes and colours, too fast for Harry to follow what was happening. All he could think was: _don't die, don't die..._

In the end, he was much too late to assist in the fight. By the time he arrived, all three hippogriffs had been subdued by students, and some clever mind had thought to conjure up some ropes to restrain the creatures. Malfoy was on the ground and surrounded by such a large crowd – at the centre of which was Madam Hooch – that Harry couldn't even get close enough to see whether or not he was hurt. _Don't die, don't die..._

Then the Slytherin had been taken away, presumably to the hospital wing, and Hagrid had arrived to quieten the still-screeching hippogriffs. Stormfeather had almost pulled free of the ropes in his effort to hunt down Malfoy again. More teachers had arrived, and all students – aside from a few who'd witnessed the event – had been sent to their respective common rooms.

The question remained; how, and why, had the hippogriffs attacked Malfoy?

Harry rubbed his eyes, attempting to force the image of the diving hippogriffs from his mind's eye. He knew that Hagrid would never leave the hippogriffs unattended unless he was sure that they and everyone else were safe. He said as much to McGonagall – "Your confidence in Professor Hagrid is inspiring," she commented dryly – when it came his turn to explain what he'd seen. By now, the Headmistress had been reduced to wearing a visibly exhausted expression.

Everyone else who'd seen the attack was questioned, one by one – the others included a second year Hufflepuff girl whose overriding expression was fear, a third year Ravenclaw who took great pride in using the longest words he could during his account of events, and a sixth year fellow Gryffindor girl who Harry vaguely thought he recognised – and then everyone was dismissed.

"Please, find your way quickly and quietly to your next lesson," McGonagall announced. "I would prefer that no more students were injured today."

The remainder of the crowd dispersed rapidly. Harry, however, stayed behind, ignoring the pointed glance McGonagall sent his way as she swept from the scene.

Harry approached the forlorn-looking Care of Magical Creatures teacher. "Hagrid, I'm really sorry," he patted the half-giant on the elbow, the only part of him that he could comfortably reach.

Hagrid smiled down at him, somewhat tearfully. "S'not your fault, Harry. It's jus' a big mess, that's all. I hope –" he shuddered slightly, "I hope they don' try an' kill 'em."

Harry nodded his agreement, and Hagrid left, muttering something about needing a strong cup of tea.

Harry found himself left alone with the offending hippogriffs. He grimaced, agreeing with Hagrid; now that they'd been calmed down, even Stormfeather looked docile and almost friendly.

Harry bit his lip. Then he bowed in the general direction of the animals, praying that it worked when approaching more than one; to his great relief, all three lowered their majestic heads in formal bows, and he approached them without difficulty.

He stroked their heads in turn as they prodded their beaks against his hands and forearms, frowning. "What did he do, hmm?" he asked, talking more to himself than to the hippogriffs. "You can't really be holding a grudge for Buckbeak all those years ago..."

As he stroked the soft, Hedwig-white feathers of Swallowtail, and saw with a wince the dried blood on Ravenwing's talons, Harry tried not to think about what might have happened if Malfoy's injuries had been worse. Instead, he let himself wonder what had happened to make the hippogriffs decide to attack the Slytherin – surely his biting, offensive wit hadn't annoyed them over such a great distance? The conundrum was all he could think about. _Malfoy _was all he could think about.

After about ten minutes of standing with the hippogriffs – all of whom rapidly lost interest in him once it became clear he had no food – Harry sighed and turned to leave. He threw one last frown at the three of them.

Malfoy hadn't even hurt the creatures.

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><p>Harry watched Malfoy surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye, as the blonde made his way to the Slytherin table. He noted – with an unwelcome surge of protective concern – that Malfoy was limping heavily, favouring his left leg. He frowned, knowing that the Slytherin was lucky to escape with nothing more than one semi-serious injury. At least he was still able to walk.<p>

Harry shook his head. He could barely believe that he was thinking nice things about Malfoy. Maybe the Devil was ice-skating.

News of the hippogriff attack on Malfoy had spread like wildfire through Hogwarts in the three days since it had happened. Those who remembered the fateful Care of Magical Creatures lesson six years prior tended to find the irony amusing. Those who were too young to remember viewed the incident as nothing more than a warning to keep a large distance between yourself and any hippogriff you happened to encounter.

"You look like you're struggling with something, Harry, are you alright?" Hermione broke through Harry's train of thought. "You're not even eating."

"Oh." He blinked, and made a conscious effort to move his breakfast around his plate a bit. "Yeah, I'm fine, it's just..." he debated telling Ron and Hermione what had been going through his head.

Ron raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Spit it out, mate."

"I was just thinking about what's been going on recently in Hogwarts. With Malfoy." Harry winced at the words, hoping neither of his friends commented on his apparent preoccupation with the Slytherin.

Hermione shot him a narrowed-eyed look, but didn't comment, instead dropping her gaze to her food. "What about it?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't think all this is a coincidence."

His words were met with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, first Malfoy's left sleeves go missing, and then someone sets a bunch of hippogriffs on him. I know he has plenty of enemies, but this seems to be going too far. I think Malfoy's in danger."

Ron started, Harry's words apparently enough to drag his attention away from the important matter of bacon. "Are you sure, Harry? I reckon it's just a bunch of stupid jokes. Some people take this stuff overboard, that's probably all it is."

"Yes," Harry insisted, "I'm sure. These 'stupid jokes' are just too close to home. Whoever's behind them obviously knows him well enough to know what would bother him. Besides, the hippogriffs could have _killed _him..."

"We're not even sure that was a deliberate prank, Harry. And even if it was, whoever set them loose must have known that Malfoy is capable of taking care of himself. He was barely injured," reasoned Hermione, buttering a slice of toast with meticulous care. "And the sleeve prank didn't hurt him at all – physically, anyway."

Harry grimaced. "But Malfoy _was _injured, and I believe Hagrid when he says that the hippogriffs wouldn't have gotten free by themselves. And you said it yourself, you thought that first 'prank' was excessive. I'm serious, I think someone's after Malfoy."

"Harry, I think you're just being silly. Why would anyone 'be after Malfoy'?" Hermione asked exasperatedly, inadvertently sending crumbs flying as she waved her toast emphatically in the air.

"'Cause he's a git?" Ron interjected helpfully.

Harry ignored that last comment. "I don't know, Hermione. But someone _is_. I know it."

Ron and Hermione shared a look that Harry couldn't interpret. He ignored his best friends, deciding that the pair of them were even more insufferable now that they were a couple, their stares and glances even more meaningful. If they didn't plan on helping him, he'd just have to work out who was after Malfoy by himself.

Harry realised with a degree of dry amusement that things were starting to look very similar to their sixth year at Hogwarts – except that this time, he was siding _with_ the blonde enigma that was Malfoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry, Draco! A) that you're not mine, and B) for what I'm doing...**

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

Harry had always loved the way Hogwarts looked when it snowed. He smiled contentedly, watching the soft flakes drift in a gentle dance around him, gazing out over the calm expanse of the lake with a peacefulness that he rarely got to enjoy.

Christmas was mere weeks away, and Hogwarts had been enthusiastically decorated in order to advertise that fact. Harry suspected that things had possibly been taken a little overboard – in truth, he hadn't been aware that quite so much tinsel existed, and there was at least a forest and half's worth of trees in the Great Hall alone. He didn't mind; Christmas at the castle was a spectacular event, full of real holiday spirit that Harry had never experienced before coming to Hogwarts.

Of course, the arrival of the holiday season meant that it had been over a month since the hippogriff attack on Malfoy. For weeks, the arrogant sod had suffered nothing worse than pointed looks of open dislike in the corridors or the occasional trip jinx when no teachers were around; his life hadn't be threatened even once since the day that Ravenwing had managed to gouge a chunk out of his leg, despite the many occurrences of bullying that Harry witnessed and the multitude more that he was sure went on when he wasn't there to see them. The Slytherin's limp had barely subsided, however, and Harry still grimaced whenever he caught sight of the blonde's affected gait.

As a consequence of the lack of vicious attacks, even Harry was grudgingly beginning to get bored of his "someone's-after-Malfoy" theory. Some days he didn't even bother trying to defend his corner when the subject came up, and he had finally accepted Ron and Hermione were never going to be convinced.

Harry sighed. The respite he'd managed to succumb to had faded with all the thoughts of Malfoy and his mysterious attacker. He got to his feet, brushing the snow off his robes and casting a quick drying spell to stop the sodden cloth from freezing him, and decided that while he was out on the grounds, he might as well go and visit Hagrid.

"Harry! I didn' know you were plannin' on visitin'," Hagrid beamed after opening the door to a rather snow-laden Harry. "Where's Ron an' Hermione?"

Harry ducked his head, welcoming the opportunity to brush the dandruff-like snowflakes from his dark hair, and tried not to think about the specifics of what his best friends were up to right now, alone in a dorm, probably, just the two of them –

"They're in the common room," he offered, somewhat awkwardly, cutting through his own thoughts, not sure if his report was accurate and suspecting it wasn't. Harry had never had a problem with the idea of his two best friends being a couple – he just wasn't interested in knowing all the sordid details, and more than once had blushed fire-engine red when the topic came up.

"Ah." Hagrid, thankfully, also seemed disinclined to press the subject. "Tea?"

Harry gratefully accepted, and flopped down into one of the chairs around the table. "How's Stormfeather and the others?"

His friend smiled happily, back onto a topic that he was comfortable discussing. "Jus' fine. Apparently, Malfoy didn' seem ter want ter press charges, thank goodness. An' they've bin as good as gold ever since."

Harry grinned in reply. "That's fantastic." It was. He hadn't been sure if the drama queen in Malfoy wouldn't, after all, make an appearance, and demand that the creatures be killed; apparently, he was either much more mature than he had been in their third year, or he was so out of favour that he had no hope of winning a court case. Harry liked to think it was the former.

"So, Harry, how's yer schoolwork bin goin'?" Hagrid asked, setting a mug of steaming tea in front of him.

Harry wrapped his cold fingers gratefully around the warmth of the drink. "Fine, really. There's more than I expected," he replied, a rueful, lopsided smile growing on his face. "To be honest, I can't wait for the holidays." Then something occurred to him. "Will we even be allowed back into Hogsmeade, after last time? I still need presents for Ron and Hermione."

"I don' see why not. But then," Hagrid grimaced, "the Ministry haven' bin havin' much luck trackin' down those Death Eaters, if it was even them behind that killin'. Worst comes to the worst, you lot might jus' have ter get by without all o' yer gifts this year."

Harry bit his lip in frustration, knowing that Hagrid might very well be right, hating the thought of that bitch Lestrange dancing around just out of the reach of justice.

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><p>It was walking back to Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione, after the final lesson of the day, when Harry fully understood just how brave Draco Malfoy had been in returning to Hogwarts.<p>

"... can't believe they let a filthy Death Eater like you back into the castle, you pathetic little _bitch_. You should be rotting in a cell, just like your _fucking – jailbird - father_."

A series of low, fleshy thuds accompanied the final, forceful words, and Harry could just distinguish the quiet, almost pitiful sound of pain that followed them. The sounds drifted around the corner to Harry and the others, and he felt his eyes go wide and his legs speed up in order to find out what the hell was going on.

When he rounded the corner, everything became clear.

Harry registered the crumpled form of Malfoy with a violent, hideous shock, and his stomach clenched as if he were going to be sick. It seemed fundamentally wrong to see the Slytherin, normally self-assured and all but glowing with confidence, so helpless. He was little more than a dark outline of robes on the cold stone floor, recognisable only by his blonde hair.

Stood above him was a familiar figure, who it took Harry only a moment to identify as Zacharias Smith; the two other students flanking him, presumably Hufflepuffs, were strangers.

Smith's head whipped round at the sound of approaching footsteps, and a somewhat guilty stare focused on Harry. Then the expression disappeared, to be replaced by some sort of haughty pride – as if he thought that Harry would appreciate what he had been doing. "Harry," he nodded in greeting, stepping back slightly from the dark form of Draco Malfoy.

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms slowly and deliberately across his chest. Long, awkward seconds passed, interrupted only by the arrival of Ron and Hermione – the latter hushed Ron's confused beginnings of a sentence – but Harry ignored his friends, concentrating only on his cold fury at the boy before him. The expression he'd adopted must have been even more murderous than he had intended, because Smith and his cronies began to hastily back away.

Something dawned on Harry, and he raised his wand thoughtfully. He doubted that anyone would have had so much control over Malfoy if the blonde still had his wand. "_Accio Malfoy's wand_," he muttered, voice low, and was rewarded when the length of wood tugged itself obediently from the folds of Smith's robes, to shoot towards Harry's outstretched hand. He closed his fingers around it with some smugness.

"Get the hell away from here, before I change my mind about not cursing you." Harry let his voice reveal his icy anger, and it actually seemed to work. The troupe of Hufflepuffs started moving quicker than before, headed towards the end of the corridor and safety from whatever spell was threatening to be sent their way.

Not before, however, one of them could aim one last vicious kick into Malfoy's gut, with a hissed, "See you around, you sick freak."

The moment they left, Harry dropped his aura of icy hatred like an old cloak and hurried to Malfoy's side, wondering if the Slytherin would even be conscious – should he take him to the hospital wing? Harry felt an irrational surge of loathing for Smith at the way he'd victimised the blonde, even knowing that he couldn't defend himself; Malfoy's continued presence at Hogwarts was a fragile thing, and even protecting himself from such awful treatment could be incentive enough to expel him.

When Harry saw the grey gaze was alert and aware, he attempted to assist in hauling the blonde upright. But Malfoy was already struggling to his feet, knocking Harry's outstretched arms away, one arm wrapped around his abdomen and the other propping him against the wall, searching for support. As he stubbornly ignored Harry's offer of help, snatching back his proffered wand somewhat petulantly, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and Harry noticed the red glint of blood there.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "Do you need me to help you to the hospital wing, or something?"

"Why the _fuck _would I want your help, Potter?" The Slytherin snarled, sounding more animal than human in his ferocity. Harry almost took a step away in fear. "Back off, you stupid bastard, and just leave me alone."

Harry blinked. "Hey, it's okay, I just –"

"You must really like to gloat, Potter." Malfoy's voice was a low, snakelike hiss. "First appearing in my dorm, now taunting me when I've got my back against a wall – do you get some sort of high out of kicking me when I'm down?"

Apparently, this was too much for Ron. "He's trying to bloody help you, you ungrateful moron!" he snapped hotly, stepping forward angrily as if to move towards Malfoy. Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Don't," she murmured, and when he complied, relaxing slightly against her shoulder, she took his hand in hers. "Harry can handle it."

Malfoy's eagle-sharp gaze saw their linked fingers, and something flickered across his face for a second.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the blood-traitor Weasel is shacking up with a filthy Mudblood," the Slytherin sneered, but Harry could see there was no real strength or emotion behind the expression, despite the impressive, derisive twist to his aristocratic features. The fact that he was still bent slightly double, nursing what Harry imagined were some badly bruised ribs, didn't help.

All that didn't seem to matter to Ron. A look of incensed fury took over his face. "You foul _git_ –" he rushed forward, shrugging Hermione aside, and raised his arm as if to send a particularly painful curse towards Malfoy, grimacing in hatred.

"Ron, _no!" _Harry bellowed, jabbing with his wand before his friend could cast any spells. A jet of red light flew from the tip, hitting an astonished Ron in the centre of his chest, and his own wand was wrenched out of his hand by the wordless _Expelliarmus _to describe an impressive trajectory through the air before clattering to the floor.

There was a second of hushed shock. Hermione gaped, Ron blinked stupidly, and Malfoy stood frozen with an unreadable expression.

It was the Slytherin who finally broke the silence and the tense atmosphere that had settled around the four of them. Barking a sharp, humourless laugh, Malfoy shook his blonde head with something akin to desperation, twisted smartly on his heel, and left as gracefully as he could.

Harry watched him leave out of the corner of his eye, before taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, and turning to meet the gazes of his two best friends.

His trepidation was not unfounded.

"What in the name of all that is sacred was _that _for? You'd better have a bloody good explanation!" Ron demanded, turning an expression of disbelief on Harry.

"Look, Ron –"

"That was _Malfoy!_" His friend said incredulously. Then, as if he didn't think Harry had heard, "_Malfoy!_"

Sighing, Harry summoned Ron's wand from the end of the corridor where it had landed, and threw it casually back to its owner, who thanked him with a mildly baleful look. He pocketed his own wand. "Ron, Malfoy was just provoking you because he's _upset_ – you saw what that bastard Smith was doing to him. He didn't really mean what he said, and I think he'd already had enough for one night. Besides, I doubt you would have gotten away with whatever curse you were planning to send his way," he added, seeing that Ron was unimpressed with his first rationalisations.

Hermione frowned. "Harry's right, Ron. But still," she focused a searching look on Harry, "things really must have changed if you're starting to defend _Malfoy_."

Harry shrugged. "We've all changed a lot in the last couple of years," he replied uneasily, hoping that he'd managed the dismissive tone he'd tried for.

"Yes, and some more than others," Harry heard her mutter, low enough that he was sure it wasn't meant for his ears.

As they made their way back to the common room, Harry's mind was working furiously. Just when he'd started to accept that maybe Malfoy's life wasn't threatened after all, he'd chanced upon someone – Hogwarts own, a _student _– who was willing to beat the Slytherin half to death because of a grudge based on his past. The pranks could easily have been Smith... or someone who meant the blonde even more harm.

No, he should have trusted his instincts. Malfoy was in danger, and Merlin help Harry if he thought he could just stand by and watch.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry it's been a few days since my last update! I officially hate the Lake District. I'm hoping to work my way up to a chapter a day, but we'll see. ****Thanks to the people who are sticking with me, all the reviews and hits have made me very very happy :D**

**Disclaimer: You're smart, you _know _they aren't mine. That's the problem -.-**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

Dumbledore's – McGonagall's – office was much as Harry remembered it. The only differences were the lack of Fawkes, the few personal touches that the new Headmistress had added, most noticeably a garish tartan throw over the arm of a chair, and a new portrait.

The occupant of the most recently added frame smiled benevolently at Harry as he stepped carefully into the office, looking up from a piece of parchment that he had apparently been studying intently. Recognising the familiar face of Professor Dumbledore, Harry grinned in reply, despite the sombre topic he'd asked to discuss with McGonagall. He mentally promised himself that one day he would have another conversation with the wizard, or at least his portrait.

"Mr Potter." Robes sweeping impressively, the former head of Gryffindor house appeared as if from nowhere.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry replied politely. "I'm sorry, I know it was rude of me to insist that you spoke to me, but –"

She cut him off smoothly. "My dear boy, I should think you know me well enough by now; if I didn't feel that whatever you had to say was important enough to warrant rudeness, you would not be here right now."

Harry blinked, and then found himself smiling lopsidedly at her inherent trust in him. "Thank you, Professor."

"You are perfectly welcome." McGonagall turned and strode towards her desk, obviously intending Harry to follow, and made to sit in her chair. She stopped suddenly, and, with a frown, tapped the chair opposite her own with her wand. It transfigured instantly from a hard-backed, cushion-less wooden seat into a far more comfortable armchair. "Sit," she told him imperiously.

Harry complied. In all honesty, the possibility of refusing did not enter into his mind; with her promotion, McGonagall had become even more daunting.

"Now, I'm sure you're eager to tell me what's wrong."

He nodded, yanking the Gryffindor bravery he was supposed to be famed for from thin air. He really wasn't sure why he was doing this; maybe Hermione had been right when she'd warned him not to...

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, Professor, I... I'm a bit worried about... someone in our year," he attempted, struggling with the words. The sentence didn't sound right in his head.

McGonagall raised one eyebrow smoothly. "You're concerned about a student?"

"Yes." Harry bit his lip. "I'm not sure this, er, _student, _is necessarily safe in the castle."

Narrowing her eyes, clearly intrigued, the Headmistress fixed Harry with a sharp and discerning stare. "May I enquire as to the name of this pupil?"

"It's... it's Draco Malfoy."

McGonagall sat back in her chair, an imposing yet homely wing-backed throne of a seat. "Mr Potter, this is a fairly serious matter you are raising."

"I know," Harry said miserably, "and I wouldn't have bothered, it's just that... I doubt anyone would take Malfoy seriously if he tried to say anything himself, and I don't think it's right..."

With a sigh, McGonagall softened her tone and expression. "If you would care to elaborate...?" she prompted.

The words came out in a rush. "Ron, Hermione and I saw Za– _someone_ yesterday, with Malfoy. The general mood of things was, um, not good."

"You mean to say, you believe that someone is bullying Mr Malfoy?" The way she said it made the entire thing seem very juvenile, a simple playground episode of the school's most popular ten-year-old pushing around a slightly smaller child. Harry frowned; it wasn't like that.

"Yes, because of his... past. I think, if we hadn't arrived, he would have ended up in the hospital wing." He hoped that the sentence was enough to convey how awful the scene he'd come across had been. He didn't, however, think it would be a good idea to start handing over names – he wasn't interested in making enemies out of people.

"Mr Potter," the Headmistress sighed. "Do you really think it would have been possible for Mr Malfoy to return to Hogwarts, and be left alone completely by the entire student body?"

Realisation dawned on him as to just what she was saying. Of course, it was practically _expected _that Malfoy would suffer. McGonagall had as good as admitted that she had no way of keeping him safe from all the harsh words and angry curses sent his way. "It wasn't just a stupid trip jinx, Professor," he said slowly. "I know that Malfoy hasn't been having the quietest year so far. This was... this was _bad_. Something not too far removed from torture. And he was completely defenceless."

McGonagall's lips narrowed into a thin line. "Thank you, Mr Potter, for alerting me to this. I am sure you are correct, in that Mr Malfoy would not have told me himself. If that is all..."

"That's not all, Professor," Harry told her hurriedly, before he could get kicked out of her office. When she didn't interrupt, he pressed on. "I have a suspicion that it's _more _somehow. After the sleeves, and the hippogriffs, well, I just..."

"Yes?" An eyebrow was raised again, almost impossibly high.

He took another deep breath. "I think someone means Malfoy harm. A lot of it."

The moment the words were out, Harry knew it had been a mistake to say them. McGonagall blinked once, and then a smile spread across her face; it was almost as if she were laughing at him. "Mr Potter, I appreciate your concerns. And may I say, I'm impressed that you have managed to overcome your rivalry with Mr Malfoy – it was, after all, famed in its day."

Harry nodded wearily, rubbing one eye absently. "I guess, after everything that happened, it didn't seem worth hating Malfoy any more."

"I admire the sentiment, Mr Potter," the Headmistress told him, a hint of pride in her voice, and then her smile was replaced with a serious expression. "But I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to keep _everyone _at Hogwarts safe. Your concern is unnecessary."

"I know it sounds stupid, I just have a feeling –"

Now her tone was somewhat dangerous, a warning. "That's enough, Mr Potter, and you would do well to leave the subject alone. I am absolutely _certain_ that Mr Malfoy is in no danger."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, and promptly shut it, realising that arguing back would be futile at this point. McGonagall's stern countenance and firm words made that much crystal clear – he had lost the argument.

He nodded again, subdued. "Okay. Thank you for your time, Professor." Harry stood and made to leave, the movements tired.

"Mr Potter," the Headmistress' voice made him turn back. McGonagall was watching him thoughtfully. "If it puts your mind at rest, I will promise to personally keep a close eye on Mr Malfoy."

Harry grimaced inwardly. "I hope that's enough," he murmured quietly. This time, when he turned to depart, he received no reply.

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><p>Hermione gaped at him. "You have got to be joking, Harry. You cannot, I repeat cannot, honestly be thinking about going to talk to Malfoy, of all people, about all this."<p>

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Harry replied grimly. "He needs to know. That I'm willing to help him, I mean."

"These are _not _desperate times!" She threw her arms up in exasperation. "How many times to we have to tell you? No one is after Malfoy! And even if they were, it is not your responsibility!"

"She's right, Harry," Ron chipped in. He held a white chess piece in his hand, a bishop, from the game he was playing against himself. "You're better off just leaving it."

Harry glared at his friend, annoyed that he wasn't siding with him on this; normally, Ron trusted Harry's instincts. "I doubt you'll be saying that when his body appears in the lake, or something."

"Don't be so bloody melodramatic!" Hermione fumed.

"Melodramatic? Oh, I'm sorry that I'm the only one concerned about Malfoy's _life_," Harry retorted.

Ron rolled his eyes, standing up in order to mediate. "Both of you, stop being so ridiculous. And, I'm sorry, but –" his tone forced Harry to meet his gaze. "This is starting to sound mental. I'm sorry, but that's just the truth. Neither of us want Malfoy to die, but it's not your job to check up on him every five minutes."

Harry screwed up his eyes, digging his fingernails into his palms. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I know. I'm sorry, really, I shouldn't be taking this out on you. It's just..."

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked round to see Hermione, her expression concerned. "What, Harry?"

"I feel like I _owe_ him. I mean, without Malfoy, we'd probably all be dead at least twice over by now. And it wasn't his fault that all this happened, he never wanted any of it..." Harry sighed. "I just know that I couldn't live with myself if anything, you know, happened."

Ron made a strangled sort of noise. "That's crazy. It's not your problem if the stupid git –"

"_Thank you_, Ronald." Hermione shot him a glare, and Ron raised his hands in a don't-shoot-me gesture, before dropping her gaze as if it were burning him. Which, knowing Hermione, it probably was. She turned away from him. "Oh, Harry, I understand. But promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay? Nothing will happen to Malfoy, he's safe. Didn't McGonagall say so?"

"She said she'd keep a close eye on him personally," Harry admitted grudgingly.

"Well, there you go!" Hermione said triumphantly.

Harry snorted. "Fine. But if he dies, I'm blaming you."

Ron shook his head in wonder, eyes wide, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. "Y'know, once upon a time, that wouldn't have been a bad thing."

The worst part was, he was right.

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><p>It was strange how some things came full circle, Harry mused dryly, as he checked the Map for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. Where...?<p>

Yes, there it was – the small dot, labelled _Draco Malfoy, _which Harry had been searching for. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't moved; Malfoy was still sat in the library, and the only time the map ever showed him budging was when he made his way to a shelf to return or seek out a book.

Harry sighed, and with a hasty "Mischief managed" and a tap from his wand, turned the Marauder's Map back into its customary blank parchment form. He dropped his head into his hands.

This was _crazy. _Ron and Hermione – and Professor McGonagall, for that matter – were right. Malfoy wasn't in danger at all. Harry had been checking the Map, keeping a very watchful eye on the blonde, during every moment of spare time; the only times he wasn't avidly scanning the parchment were lessons and mealtimes. His careful vigil had been going on for somewhere in the region of a week to a fortnight, although at this point, he wasn't exactly sure. He'd been waking periodically at night to check that Malfoy was indeed still in the Slytherin dungeons.

No, this was definitely mental. He should put the Map down, and go and find Ron and Hermione, maybe Neville or Ginny or Luna... or better yet, the two foot long Transfiguration essay that he'd been putting off.

Harry sighed and stood up, rubbing his eyes, and tapped the blank parchment one more time. He promised himself that this was the last time he would search for Malfoy...

That couldn't be right. Harry blinked in shock as he scanned the area that was the library, worry pooling in his gut when he discovered that the Slytherin was most definitely not there any more. Where was he, where had he gone, what if –?

Then his gaze alighted on the familiar name, and Harry breathed out with a mix of relief and annoyance at himself. Of course, Malfoy was allowed to move around the school. He wasn't chained to a desk in the library. _I need to leave this alone_, Harry acknowledged grimly to himself.

The thought flew straight out of his mind when another name caught his eye. The dot labelled _Zacharias Smith _was making its down the inky representation of a third floor corridor, and Harry was suddenly, painfully aware that if the Hufflepuff were to take the next left and make his way down a flight of stairs, he would come face to face with an unsuspecting Malfoy. Alone. Heart thudding in his chest, Harry searched frantically in his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak, keeping his gaze locked onto the two dots, perilously close to each other now – he threw the cloak over himself, seized his wand, all but running towards the door –

And then Zacharias Smith continued on past the turning that would have taken him to Malfoy, and Harry felt his body sagging in relief. After a moment of getting his breath back, he yanked the cloak off with a growl, letting himself slide down the wall until he was curled up with his knees against his chest, face buried in his forearms. As if he'd needed proof that he was going insane...

Harry really didn't know why he was so desperate to keep the snarky Slytherin safe. He wasn't even sure why he was so adamant that the blonde even _needed _his help, or why he was so willing to offer it.

All he knew was one thing. If Smith so much as touched Malfoy again, Harry was going to use his gut strings as wand cores.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Unless it's my lucky day and ownership of the Harry Potter universe has been bequeathed to me, then I feel I should put in a disclaimer. They aren't mine, although it hurts to admit it.**

**I'd also like to thank a couple of readers; both TayaCurragh and Anakaraya Ravenclaw have given me several very sweet reviews, and I felt they deserved a mention for their time and effort. Thank you! :D This fluffy Christmas chapter is dedicated to you guys.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

Very few people stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas.

Hermione had gone to spend time with her parents. Harry knew that after Obliviating them during the height of the war, and sending them away, she still felt guilty. From the little she'd said, Harry had gathered that her parents had been quite distraught when they discovered that Hermione had placed herself in danger, and it had caused her a fair amount of distress when she'd first gone to seek them out. He didn't begrudge her the chance to make it up to them.

Ron, along with Ginny, had also returned home for the holidays, but Harry knew from experience that the Burrow was – for the time being, at least – not a happy place to be. The Weasleys were still grieving for their son, and Harry was painfully aware that his presence was a reminder to the family just what they had sacrificed in the fight against Voldemort. Despite Molly's insistence, he had politely declined Ron's offer to spend Christmas with them. He was sure that he'd seen a grateful understanding in his best friend's expression, and didn't regret the decision.

It was much the same story for the rest of Harry's friends. Everyone else had elected to celebrate the occasion at home. He, however, after much deliberation, had decided that he would actually quite _like _to spend Christmas at Hogwarts; it was, after all, his last chance to do so.

Strolling through the corridors of the castle, Harry smiled peacefully. It seemed there was nowhere that the long arm of holiday spirit hadn't reached within Hogwarts; trees, tinsel, garlands, holly and the occasional ominous cluster of mistletoe were everywhere. He had avoided the latter like the plague for weeks, fully aware that there was a large number of giggling, teenage girls just hoping to catch him underneath some mistletoe. And probably, as Ron had pointed out much to his amusement, a smaller but still significant number of _boys _wishing just the same thing.

Harry chuckled under his breath as he remembered that conversation. Ginny had winked and declared that now she _finally _understood why they'd broken up. Of course, apart from Cho, Harry had never done anything of the sort, especially not with anyone male, but he found himself debating which boy would be preferable to catch under the mistletoe... and promptly decided that was not an avenue he wanted to explore. The direction his mind was leading him was not a favourable one. Too much blonde hair.

Thankfully, he arrived at the Great Hall before his errant thoughts could drag him under.

As had happened in his third year, there were so few people still at Hogwarts over the holidays that there was only one table set up for both teachers and students alike. Already seated were Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Trelawney and, in what Harry could only assume was a magically reinforced chair, Hagrid. The only students present were two terrified-looking Hufflepuff girls in second and third year, a bored-looking Ravenclaw boy – maybe fourth or fifth year? – and himself.

Harry had hoped to be unobtrusive, but from the moment he stepped foot in the hall, merry greetings and looks of astonishment and admiration – not all from the same people – flooded towards him. He replied politely to all of them, and was introduced to the students; sisters Rebecca and Anna Spencer respectively, and Max Duffew. He cringed internally when the sisters professed themselves to be massive fans of his, and thanked his luck that the only available seats were at the opposite end of the table.

Harry took one of the two places, and frowned in confusion at the other. "Is someone else coming?"

"Sorry, Mr Potter? Oh, I see, yes, there is someone else, it's – ah, here he is!" McGonagall gestured grandly, smiling, the paper hat she wore at odds with her normally stern countenance. Her unusually cheerful manner was, Harry suspected, down to the half-empty wine glass that sat before her. A large glass that was, strictly, a little more than half empty.

He stared idiotically when the last member of their company limped, as arrogantly as possible, into the Great Hall.

Of all the people Harry had been expecting to sit next to during Christmas dinner, Draco Malfoy would have occupied the last place on his list. In fact, he was pretty sure the Slytherin wouldn't have even been _on _the list, but, by some twist of fate, the blonde was gracefully sliding into the seat next to him even as the thought was running through his head.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Slughorn used his chair to help haul his portly frame to a standing position. From the inebriated state of the adults, Harry suspected that the alcohol had been flowing freely for some time now, and chuckled at the sight of the slurring Potions master. "It is my pleasure to spend this wonderful occasion with you all, motley bunch though we are," he smiled, somewhat unfocused, around the table. "I hope that our small number does not diminish the joy of the day. To a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!"

A cheer ran up the table at his words, although Harry suspected that was more prompted by the arrival of the Christmas feast than Slughorn's drunken toast. The meal was no less impressive, if smaller in volume, than normal, and he had to admit – there was nowhere on earth, except with the possible exception of the Burrow, that served better food.

He was just digging in, eagerly piling his plate up with a bit of everything, when a familiar voice sounded from his right.

"Merry Christmas, Potter." The memorable drawl sounded amused.

Harry nearly dropped the bowl of sprouts in shock. He turned to see Malfoy, wearing a satisfied expression, staring back at him. He smiled weakly. "Merry Christmas, Malfoy."

And _that _set the tone for the rest of the meal – slightly surreal, mildly terrifying, and completely unexpected. Harry registered vaguely that Ron would have a fit if he was aware that he and Malfoy – his arch-nemesis, no less – were having a pleasant conversation over Christmas dinner, but that was no doubt what was happening.

"... sense a severe amount of favouritism." The blonde gestured elegantly to the ceiling. Harry frowned and looked up.

"Why?" He asked in confusion. He wasn't referring to the sky, was he?

Malfoy gave a laugh. A genuine laugh, the kind that Harry had never heard him give before. "The tinsel, Potter. Red and gold entirely. As a Slytherin to my very core, I find myself offended."

Still blinking stupidly from the weirdness of having heard Malfoy _laugh_, Harry gave a small smirk, pulled out his wand – and pointed it at the copious amounts of tinsel that were insulting Malfoy. With the application of one wordless spell, the decorative garlands were suddenly half red and gold, and half green and silver. "Better?"

Malfoy raised one eyebrow smoothly. "Don't let your precious Gryffindors see you doing that, Potter, they'll throw you out."

"They wouldn't dare," Harry replied darkly, grinning despite his affected tone. "They know that if I did, they'd have to give me up to Slytherin."

The blonde looked him up and down haughtily, before huffing out an affronted breath. "You are very much mistaken if you think our noble house would deign to let you in."

Harry managed less than a second of staring back at the snooty expression on Malfoy's face before creasing over with laughter. The Slytherin himself joined in with amused sniggers of his own an instant later. The strangeness of just _who _he was having so much fun being around made Harry's giggling fit that much more impossible to reign in.

"This... this is surreal." He finally managed, raising his hands in a I-don't-know-what-the-hell-just-happened gesture.

"Whoever would have thought?" came the dry agreement. Then Malfoy frowned. "Actually, I'm surprised. I would've expected you to spend Christmas with the Weasleys. Isn't that where Granger is?"

Harry shook his head, taking a sip of pumpkin juice as he fully regained his composure. "She's with her family. I didn't feel like intruding at the Burrow, either."

"Ah." Apparently, Malfoy understood exactly what he meant, and Harry didn't need to elaborate.

"What about you?" He frowned at the blonde.

The Slytherin smirked humourlessly. "I didn't feel like intruding," he echoed Harry, then sighed. "Mother isn't great company now, not after everything that's happened, and with Father where he is. Not that Christmas was ever particularly fun. I prefer it here anyway; the Manor doesn't feel like home any more."

Harry felt his jaw drop ever so slightly in astonishment. Malfoy, too, seemed to realise just how much of himself he'd given away, because he ducked his head and refused to meet Harry's gaze; suddenly, the roast potatoes he'd be neglecting previously seemed to hold some vital epiphanies that the blonde had been waiting for, judging by the intense way he stared at them.

After that moment, no amount of attempts to start up any sort of conversation, trivial or otherwise, made any difference. Malfoy shrugged them all off with cool, polite replies than allowed no way into a real exchange.

Apparently, some things never changed.

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><p>New Year was a much quieter affair, involving considerably less alcohol consumption on the part of the professors. The majority of the people present, no more than twenty or so, excused themselves not long after midnight.<p>

Harry spent the best part of the evening having a rather annoying Anna Spencer, the third year Hufflepuff girl, demanding his attention in order to tell him repeatedly how jealous her friends would be that she'd met the famous Harry Potter. Not wanting to upset the impressively brave and talkative teen, Harry smiled tiredly and nodded his head every so often to give the impression that he was taking in what she was saying.

The task of keeping his patience was made that much harder by Malfoy, who was directing his age-old sneer of derision at him from across the Hall, apparently greatly amused by Harry's most recently acquired follower. Ever since the uncomfortable moment during Christmas dinner, the Slytherin had gone back to being his old self, even going so far as to direct a few biting insults Harry's way when the time seemed right. Although Harry mainly found the regression a bit sad, the blonde prat had always been, and always would be, perfectly capable of getting under his skin like no one else he'd ever known.

Then his friends were back at Hogwarts, and the new term was kicking in. The post-holiday glumness spread through the castle like a disease – along with an actual illness, a flu that Seamus, Ginny and Neville all succumbed to.

Hermione returned with a glowing tan. Her parents had decided to remain in Australia, now that they were settled there anyway, where it was the height of summer; Harry shook his head, unable to comprehend spending Christmas day on the beach. For him, the holiday was about snow and roaring fireplaces and spiced apples, not barbeques in 50o heat.

Ron seemed to agree, although Harry had a sneaking suspicion that his Christmas had not been particularly full to the brim of festive cheer, either. He felt a surge of sympathy and guilt, picturing the scene; the Weasley family, one member short, attempting to push past the hole left by Fred's death. The resulting image – a Christmas dinner that was quite obviously and pitifully _unfinished_ – made Harry appreciate how hard the Weasleys must be taking their loss. Granted, he'd grieved more than his fair share himself, but he hadn't known his parents or godfather for as long.

Harry decided grimly that Christmas got harder and harder to enjoy with age.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Disclaimer in other chapters. Just thought I should share, it's looking like this fic will probably be rated M in later chapters. I've been distracted and haven't written or posted as much as I would have liked in the last week or so - sorry!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

"Hermione, I think you've finally lost it."

Ron's voice was thick with disbelief, and his incredulous expression nearly tipped Harry over the edge into laughter. He supposed the maroon sweater his friend was wearing – the annual offering of Mrs Weasley – didn't help make the scene any less amusing.

"No, Ronald, I have not _lost it. _Just because I'm being sensible about my studies, does not mean you've got any right to question my sanity."

"'Sensible about your studies'? Our exams aren't for months! You can't really expect us to start revising for them now!"

Hermione's gaze turned caustic. Harry noted that not even a war could curb her overly enthusiastic approach to studying – the woman was most definitely awe inspiring. Apparently, his other best friend wasn't nearly as impressed. "I don't _expect _you to fail your NEWTs, you idiotic moron, but if you don't start taking all this a bit more seriously –"

The argument raged backwards and forwards, occasionally rising to a volume that alarmed Harry enough to try and placate the pair. Secretly, although he'd never tell Hermione for fear of having vital body parts hexed off, he agreed with Ron, although his reasons for not wanting to revise were not quite the same.

The recommencing of school had brought with it a new wave of determination to watch over Malfoy, and keeping a constant eye on someone took more energy than one might realise. Certainly enough that any more studying would prove impossible to fit in.

Harry was aware that what he was doing – his frequent checks of the Marauder's Map in order to be sure of the blonde's location, regular surreptitious checks on the Slytherin's appearance to satisfy himself that someone hadn't cursed him, and burning belief that it was only a matter of time before something awful happened – were bordering on obsession, an obsession that was worse than the preoccupation he'd had with Malfoy in their sixth year.

It didn't help that the blonde had reverted fully to his polite and distant treatment of Harry. It was frustrating; just when he'd thought that he and Malfoy might be able to put all that enmity behind them, and perhaps even lay the foundations for a real friendship, the irritating prat had retreated back into himself.

And Harry knew for definite that Malfoy was still attracting plenty of abuse in the school corridors. A large number of Slytherins were targeted, usually with harsh insults or accusations, or sneaky jinxes and hexes. Most people had not forgiven the fact that the house had gotten off so lightly during the reign of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts, and a few were taking the opportunity to exact revenge. Malfoy, however, received special treatment – most likely because of the remnants of the Dark Mark that was seared permanently into his skin. As an official "ex-Death Eater", the blonde menace was victim to the worst of the anti-Slytherin bullying.

Including, although Harry had yet to persuade anyone else of the fact, a serious threat to his life.

"This is crazy," Harry dropped his head onto his folded arms. Thankfully, Ron and Hermione were far too wrapped up in what was now becoming little more than a pissing contest to notice him. Or, if they did, they didn't suspect just _what _was so crazy.

* * *

><p>"<em>Come out, come out, little Harry!"<em>

_Just one more step, and she would be within reach – he extended an arm, burying it wrist-deep into the shadows before him –_

"_Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter..."_

_Screaming, crying, breaking – _

"Harry? Harry!" Hermione's voice dragged him slowly back to consciousness, fading into his awareness. A small amount of his vision, still edged with black, returned to him, and he blinked slowly and turned to face her.

"S'up?" he asked sleepily. For some reason, Hermione's face was blurry...

Oh. Harry straightened his glasses and smiled sheepishly, lifting his head off his hand and sending a silent thank you to whatever higher power there may be that he hadn't drooled. Much.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione scrutinised his face. "You look awful!"

Ron snorted, and Harry expanded his knowledge of his less immediate surroundings as he turned to his friend. "Have I ever told you, Hermione, just how warm and fuzzy you make us feel when you say nice things like that?"

She shot him an annoyed glance, and opened her mouth to retort angrily. Before the situation could escalate, Harry decided to jump in.

"Sorry, Hermione, I've just... I've not been sleeping all that well recently."

Both of them looked instantly concerned, argument forgotten. "What's up, mate?" Ron asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," Harry grimaced. He supposed he would just have to tell them. "I've been having nightmares all week."

"Is it the same one every night?"

After a second of hesitation, Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione wrapped him instantly a hug. She scolded him while his face was buried in her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell us? We would have helped!"

He pulled away, putting a hand on her shoulder to assuage her guilt. "It's okay, really. It's not... _Voldemort_. It's Bellatrix Lestrange."

Ron whitened slightly. "Because of the attacks?"

Harry nodded. "I try to chase her, and she ends up finding _me _instead. It's not really that bad – just exhausting, y'know?"

He tuned out the rest of their sympathy, all of Ron's awkward reassurances, and Hermione's motherly fussing. _It's not really that bad... _Well, his friends didn't need to know how much the helplessness of his recurring nightmare really affected him. In truth, he rarely told them about his dreams any more. Especially now that in between the nightmares that featured Bellatrix Lestrange, he would be visited by a mysterious, blurry figure... a figure with a startlingly silver stare, and a warm, soothing embrace.

* * *

><p>It took McGonagall several minutes before she managed to regain control of the noise in the Great Hall, despite her terrifying demeanour.<p>

"... come to _Hogwarts_?"

"I can't believe the Ministry still hasn't managed –"

"... hear about it? I reckon..."

Harry merely sat through the noise, grimacing and exchanging worried looks with Ron, Hermione and the others, before the Headmistress' amplified voice finally rang through the chatter.

"_Silence!"_

Well, it wasn't quite silence that she achieved, but students, staff and ghosts alike certainly turned to look at her.

"Now, everyone," she continued, voice returning to normal. "I will not have Hogwarts consumed with overdramatic behaviour or childish rumours. Any pupil who does not behave with the appropriate level of maturity will be asked to leave the school until this situation has been... resolved." McGonagall gave a smile despite the deadly atmosphere in the room, sweeping her gaze across the assembled student body of Hogwarts. "I am sure, however, that after what this school has survived through, we will be perfectly capable of staying calm and sensible in the face of danger."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville twitch slightly, and exchange an unreadable expression with Seamus. He was sure that their silent communication would be concerning their fateful first attempt at seventh year; a castle full of Aurors would be nothing compared to a Hogwarts overrun with Death Eaters.

"You will all be kept up to date with the current situation; I feel this is only fair. For now, however, I urge you to keep yourselves safe – and I request that everybody remain in their common rooms after dark. Do not give me cause to take back my faith in you. You are dismissed."

The instant McGonagall had finished speaking, the Great Hall was filled with excited and nervous chatter yet again. This time, as they lined up in order to file out of the doors, Harry, Ron and Hermione joined in.

"This is absolutely _ridiculous_!" Hermione complained hotly. "This is nothing but detrimental to the state of this school – in the first year back, too!"

Ron took her hand. Both he and Harry were fully aware of Hermione's sensitive opinions concerning the escaped Death Eaters; ever since the aborted Hogwarts trip, she'd made it clear just how much it upset her. Harry understood, even agreed. The war was over; they shouldn't have to deal with things like this any more.

"Do you really think they were planning to come to Hogwarts?" Ron turned to Harry, wide-eyed.

Harry bit his lip. "Well... I can understand why they might," he hedged. He avoided saying out loud that he had considered himself to be the target – that was just egotistical. Lestrange and her cronies could be after revenge from anyone, if that's what they even wanted. "And I get why all this is happening." He gestured to the dark-robed Aurors that stood, dotted around the Great Hall.

"You don't think... you don't think they're after _you_?" Ron's voice was low, and he leant towards Harry to keep from being overheard.

With a sigh, Harry shook his head tightly, more to show Ron that he'd heard and didn't want to reply than an actual answer.

"Harry." Hermione's voice demanded his attention. He glanced at her. "Promise me that you will do what McGonagall asked, right? I know that you still want, well, _revenge _on Bellatrix Lestrange after..." she cut off. "But please, be careful. Don't go looking for her."

Harry was painfully reminded of Arthur Weasley's warning in his third year, back when everyone had believed that Sirius Black was an escaped murderer hell-bent on killing Harry. Now, he knew better – his godfather was gone, taken from him by the very woman who was running around so freely.

He swallowed, and met Hermione's narrowed gaze. "I promise. But –" he interrupted his friends' sighs of relief, "if she comes looking for me, then I'm not going to hold back."

Ron shrugged, and grinned at Harry, alleviating the tension of the moment. "I wouldn't expect anything less, mate."

They spend the rest of the walk back to Gryffindor Tower in near silence. Every other corridor would be guarded haughtily by one of the black-robed Ministry employees, who garnered plenty of curious stares from passing students. Harry found himself questioning the Aurors' ability to keep them safe if the Death Eaters _did _turn up; after all, they still hadn't managed to capture them, despite it having been more than a year since the end of the war.

When he climbed into bed that night, folding his glasses and placing them carefully next to his bed, Harry slid his wand under his pillow, gripping it tightly.

If Lestrange did come looking for him, he was sure as hell going to give her a fight. A fight that, if things went to plan, would result in her lifeless body being sprawled across the floor at his feet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The presence of Aurors at Hogwarts did nothing to lighten the seventh years' workload. If anything, the teachers were more on edge than normal, dishing out severe punishments and lengthy homework tasks as if it could dispel their own discomfort.

"I didn't think it was possible to write five feet on Mableson's Third Law before tonight," groaned Ron. Harry glanced in pity at his friend, who was rubbing at his writing hand in an attempt to stop it seizing up. Ron was struggling even more with the work than he was.

"And it's supposed to get _worse_?" Harry asked in a low voice, praying that Hermione hadn't heard the comment. Her views on the matter were mainly that good organisation and hard work were all it took to keep abreast of the work, and that they were just lazy. This would have been far less annoying if she hadn't been finding the increased hours so easy to cope with.

Harry sighed, and with a surge of frustration that surprised even himself, dropped a heavy textbook on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. "Right. That's it," he exclaimed. "I need to get to get _out _of here. I'm going to see Hagrid – you coming?"

Ron sent a beseeching look at Hermione. "Er, sorry," he replied hurriedly, turning back to Harry with a frankly terrified expression. "I have a lot of work to do."

"I'm glad to see your attitude is improving, Ron," Hermione noted dryly. "But I'll come, Harry."

"How come he doesn't get a lecture?" An open-mouthed, clearly indignant Ron glared at the pair of them, only remaining seated when another warning glance from Hermione was shot his way.

"_He _has finished his homework for this evening," she retorted primly. "You, however, have not. I know for a fact that you didn't do your Potions essay last night – and don't look at me like that, I'm not stupid – because you were too caught up in Seamus' stupid quill racing game."

As Hermione turned and swept out of the common room, Harry sent Ron an apologetic look. The truth was, he'd been just as amused watching Seamus and Dean animate their quills in order to send them on an epic chase around Gryffindor Tower. He'd just spent a few sleepless early hours of the morning, following a particularly vivid dream, completing the essay.

* * *

><p>Harry finally decided it was time to call it a night. The revelation came when his eyes closed, impossible to keep open, and his head dropped – sending his forehead straight into the table with a loud thud. He cursed, blinking away stars.<p>

It was late, definitely. Although he wasn't the only person in the library, there were very few hardened bibliophiles remaining in there at this hour, and besides, the return of the nightmares had sapped his strength. After a full day of lessons and a few hours with Hagrid on top of all of that, he was well and truly exhausted. Apparently, Dreamless Sleep potion – which Hermione had been supplying him with during most of the previous week – could cause severe drowsiness with overuse; he'd learnt that the hard way. It was ironic that something designed to combat exhaustion could make someone so fuzzy, but that Defence lesson was still a blur of crazy half-dreams, and he didn't want a repeat of the experience.

Gathering his things with a sigh, Harry stood and left, moving hurriedly past Madam Pince in case she considered banging one's head against a table a punishable disturbance to the quiet of the library.

He was making his way towards the common room, fully intending to just curl up and sleep as much as he could, when he found himself stopping. He wasn't sure if it was the sudden sense of dread, or the sound of voices from just around the corner, that made him halt so suddenly, but it was one or the other.

It was probably the voices. They were familiar – too familiar. Harry felt an unexpected curl of terror and rage in the pit of his stomach at the recognition, and almost on instinct, his wand was in his hand. Something, however, kept him from turning the corner and just confronting the pair. Maybe it was the image of the humiliated, silver gaze that had haunted him since the last time he'd tried that stunt.

"I don't know why you find doing this so fascinating, you know. I guess, small things amuse small minds." Malfoy sounded more or less unharmed. That fact allowed a little of the iron fist in Harry's gut to unclench.

A snarl and the sound of flesh on flesh rewarded the Slytherin's biting comment, and Harry sucked in a breath. "You slimy little _prick_. I wonder how much Daddy had to pay to get you back in here, hmm?"

Wonderfully, stupidly, Malfoy carried on. "Probably less than _your _daddy paid for your whore of a mother to climb into bed with him."

"You _bastard_!" Two more sounds of impact, accompanied by a muffled grunt of pain, reached Harry's ears. He cringed, fists clenching in fury, but he was rooted to the spot. "Don't you dare say that, ever again!"

"Why? What you gonna do about it?" challenged Malfoy's voice.

There was a second of silence, and Harry wondered if the Slytherin had drawn his wand; maybe he would curse the vicious bully, hang the consequences. But apparently, the blonde wasn't that stupid; Smith's voice was cocky and smug when he next spoke.

"Watch it, bitch. If I tell anyone that you've hurt me, anyone at all, you'll be sitting right next to Malfoy Senior in a cosy little cell in less than 24 hours."

Apparently, the Slytherin had no reply to that.

Smith sniggered, a low, twisted sound. Harry could barely believe that the boy – who he had never believed to be worse than a slightly arrogant prick – was enjoying torturing Malfoy quite so much.

"Not so quick to backchat now, are you? Now that you know your place. In fact, Malfoy, I happen to know a spell – painful, apparently – that will give you a _permanent _reminder of just where you belong..."

And that was when Harry barrelled round the corner, wand outstretched. "Stop. Right _now_." His voice was hard, stony, and edged with a strange madness he'd never heard there before.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Smith sounded and looked, on the surface, nonchalant. But Harry picked up on the hint of uncertainty in his expression, and the twitch of his fingers as he pushed his wand hastily into the sleeve of his robes. There was no doubt that a second earlier, he'd had that wand pointed threateningly at Malfoy – who looked surprisingly put-together, considering that he was shaking slightly and bleeding from a cut above one eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same thing, Smith." Harry raised his eyebrows.

The other boy sneered. The expression was not quite up to Malfoy's own impeccable standards, but it was nearly there. "You have no right to stop me."

"You know that doesn't matter to me. I'll stop you whether I have a right to or not."

Did he see a flicker of fear in the Hufflepuff's eyes? "I'd like to see you try."

The challenge was too much; Smith must have known that. As the imminent threat of a fight loomed, Harry dropped his voice, the grip on his wand tightening until the tendons on his forearm stood out visibly. His vicious words contrasted almost irreconcilably with his icy, polite tone. "Smith, I'm going to make you a promise, okay? If you don't back off, right now, and leave Malfoy alone – for good – then I'm going to rearrange your face to the point where your own _mother _will not recognise you. Am I perfectly clear?"

The look that Smith gave Harry was a blend of anger, disbelief and terror. "You cannot be serious? What is it, Potter, got some poncy _crush _on a Death Eater faggot now, or what –?"

Harry moved quickly – but Malfoy was quicker. Within an instant, Smith was sprawled against the nearest wall, having been hit square in the chest with a blue streak of magic and hurled against the stonework. He gasped for air, scrambling for his own wand.

"_Expelliarmus_," Harry said calmly, and the Hufflepuff's wand shot from his grasp. Harry caught it deftly with the skill of a Seeker as it arced past him.

Smith made a loud sound of outrage. He glared in fury at Malfoy. "_You! _How dare you? You're going to get dumped on your fucking arse behind bars when they find out you cursed me like that –"

"Malfoy didn't curse you," Harry frowned, his voice innocent and deliberate. "I think you must be confused. I'm afraid it was me. But you're right; you should probably tell a teacher what I've done. I'm sure I'll get in a lot of trouble," he added helpfully.

Smith paled, then staggered to his feet and thrust his face toward Harry's, spitting with anger. Apparently, he realised what was happening; maybe _Malfoy's _word against another student's would be easily overruled, but Harry Potter's? "You're protecting him!"

"If you like," Harry retorted icily. He stared down the Hufflepuff, knowing full well how intimidating he must look, and within seconds, Smith backed off. "Now. Since it apparently didn't get through the first time, I will repeat my earlier warning. Go anywhere near Malfoy, ever again, and I will personally make sure that you wish you'd never been born."

Smith just glared hatefully this time, beaten and wandless.

Harry snarled, and raised his arm. The boy before him cringed, lifting his hands as if to protect himself from whatever curse he imagined was coming his way. But Harry didn't cast a spell; he threw Smith's wand, as hard as he could, down the corridor, half-hoping that the wood would shatter upon impact.

No such luck. But never mind.

Harry kept his own wand levelled at Smith's chest as the other boy backed off slowly, face contorted in a way that was meant to be defiant but came out more as fearful, before snatching his wand from the ground and disappearing from view. Harry barely resisted the urge to hex his retreating back.

When it was clear that he wasn't planning on returning, Harry sighed in relief, and relaxed slightly.

"You are _such _an arrogant twat, you know that?" The demanding voice made him jump, and he span to see a furious Malfoy glaring at him, wand raised threateningly.

"What?" Harry gasped faintly. "You are _joking_, right, Malfoy? I just saved your bloody neck, again –"

"I wish you hadn't fucking _bothered_!" came the shouted reply.

Harry stared wordlessly in shock at the Slytherin, feeling a jolt of pure terror at what looked suspiciously like tears in the expressive grey eyes.

"Look, Potter," Malfoy forced his tone to be civil, obviously with some effort, if his tightly-clenched fists were anything to go by. "I get that you have some sort of stupid Golden Boy requirement to save everyone you meet. But I think it would be better for us both if you just left me alone, okay?"

"Malfoy –"

"I _said_, leave me alone." The Slytherin's voice was low, dangerously close to a hiss, and he glared at Harry for a moment. The expression was so intense that when Malfoy turned and swept away, Harry didn't even call after him.

Once he'd managed to retrieve his jaw from the floor, Harry gave a short growl of frustration. Not even _Malfoy _would listen to him now. How the hell was he supposed to protect the stupid bastard, if the moron had just rejected him like that?

_No,_ Harry told himself forcefully. This was not rejection. This was... well. Definitely _not _rejection, and that was that.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: A very kind person - specifically SoulWriter0012 - left many lovely reviews recently. I promise, I'm not JK Rowling (although life would be good if I was), I apologise for inspiring a fear of hippogriffs in you, and if necessary I'll stick both the boys in rehab at the end of this fic. Because it's slash, and they will be acting very nice to each other by the end of it... Anyway, your compliments made me grin with happiness, thank you so much for reviewing! :)**

**One last thing; I got my best response ever on Ch10. Hugs to everyone who's taken the time to read this. You are my inspiration.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

"Where's your boyfriend, Potter?"

Harry ignored the comment, which had come from somewhere near the Hufflepuff table. Although the gossip and interest had died down over the last week, Smith and his cronies were still very much out to make Harry miserable.

The news that the Boy Who Lived was personally protecting Draco Malfoy had spread around school within less than a day, and by the evening of the day after "the Incident", everybody knew. It had prompted a large amount of jeering and catcalls, plenty of hilarity, and a certain amount of incredulity. The "Potter loves Malfoy" jokes were particularly popular, especially with Hufflepuff house, and even now that most people had lost interest, a few enthusiastic and persistent people kept going.

Ron and Hermione had taken to exchanging loaded looks every time the topic of Malfoy came up. Harry had told them what had happened, thankfully before they heard the truncated and twisted version from someone else, and although neither of them had been outright critical of his actions, he knew they didn't approve. He had decided it was best that he didn't tell them about the way he checked the Marauder's Map every time he got the chance.

Malfoy himself had taken a hefty amount of vicious insults, although Harry knew that no one dared to corner him alone in a corridor after what had happened to Smith. The Slytherin was less than grateful, turning furious shades of red – that _should _have been unattractive – every time someone loudly made suggestions about Harry's ulterior motives for protecting him. He'd not looked at or spoken to Harry at all since it had happened, and Harry kept recalling the fury he'd seen on Malfoy's face.

Oh well. If he was safe, it didn't matter.

"Hey, Harry." A voice interrupted Harry's thoughts.

Looking up with a grin, Harry met the smiling gaze. "Hi, Ginny!"

"So enthusiastic to see me?" she laughed. "Maybe someone wants to have another go at _us_."

Quite aware that the witty redhead was joking, Harry raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Yes, I really would like Ron's fist to connect with my jaw at some point soon." That wasn't an exaggeration; Ron had accepted Harry and Ginny's break up with good grace, but he had warned Harry in no uncertain terms – he was Ginny's brother first, and if his best friend messed around with his little sister's feelings, he wouldn't be happy. Harry had chuckled in amusement and told Ron that he expected nothing less. "What's up?"

Sliding into the seat opposite Harry, Ginny sighed. "I heard about your little meeting with Zac."

Zac? _Oh_. Of course. She meant Smith. Harry tensed.

"It's okay, you know," Ginny continued conversationally. "I think he's been a complete prick. Malfoy doesn't deserve all this, and you were right to step in."

Harry was surprised. He knew that that Ron's younger sister was much more sensible and open-minded than her brother, but he hadn't expected this – not even his best friends had told him they agreed with what he'd done.

"Unless, of course, he really _is _the reason we broke up, like everyone's saying?" She arched an eyebrow, and the twinkle in her eye made it clear she was joking.

Harry laughed weakly. "Most definitely not. I don't even dare to _picture _it, I promise." Well, only half of that was a lie. He had, after all, spent a week listening to people refer to Malfoy as his 'boyfriend'.

"Poor you," Ginny joined in the laugh, genuinely amused by the slightly ill expression he'd affected. After a second, however, she sobered. "Well, actually, that wasn't why I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh? Fire away," Harry gave her an encouraging smile.

"I've just come from Hagrid's," she sighed. Now that she mentioned it, Harry noticed a smudge of dirt across one of her cheeks, and her clothes weren't particularly clean either. "I've been helping him out with an influx of... creatures. He's been having some trouble with the Forbidden Forest lately."

"Trouble with the Forest?" Harry repeated, concerned.

"Things have been coming _out _of it. Things that Hagrid says should stay between the trees where no one ever sees them." Ginny looked unnerved at the thought. "Dad's old car actually made a reappearance yesterday."

Harry smiled despite himself at the reminder of the enchanted Muggle car. It had caused him and Ron a lot of trouble in their second year, but then, it had saved them from a horde of giant, hungry spiders, so he thought of it with a degree of affection.

"How come you're telling me? Does Hagrid want me to help, or something?"

"Oh – no, of course not!" Ginny looked taken aback by the idea. "Hagrid just wanted me to tell you not to visit him tomorrow. Apparently you had plans, tea, or something. Well, anyway, he says it's too dangerous, and that he thinks you should stay in the castle. He _did_ tell me to apologise."

"Oh." Harry felt his forehead wrinkling as he scowled. He didn't appreciate being told that things were 'too dangerous' for him – it was too much after everything he'd dealt with during the war. "Fine." It was a shame, too. Harry had been looking forward to the brief break from schoolwork that the visit was supposed to offer him.

"Sorry." Ginny gave him an apologetic glance, and then stood up. "Anyway, I'd better go and clean up. Feel free to join me in the shower, Harry."

As she winked and left, Harry laughed at her flirting. It meant nothing, he knew that; it was just nice to be able to joke in the midst of a school year that was rapidly becoming equally as bad as all its predecessors.

* * *

><p>The Aurors were still present at Hogwarts. Apparently, after the Incident in the corridor between Malfoy, Harry and Smith, McGonagall had not been best pleased with their observational abilities – if they couldn't stop a simple brawl, how could they stop a trio of Death Eaters? – but they had been allowed to remain. Harry commented on the fact one night in the common room.<p>

"It's just stupid!" He frowned. "They're not even _doing _anything. And we don't really need them here, do we? It's not like they're expecting a fight any time soon."

Silence met his words, and neither of his friends looked at him.

"What? What's going on?" Harry asked suspiciously. Was there something he didn't know?

"Well..." Hermione squirmed uncomfortably under Harry's gaze.

Yes, definitely something going on. "What is it?" he demanded, clenching his fists.

She sighed. "You don't get the paper, Harry, do you?"

Feeling an angry and impatient expression take over his face, Harry replied shortly, "No. It's full of crap, you know I hate reading it. Why, what's happened?"

Ron stepped in. "Look, Harry, we didn't want to worry you, or make the... y'know, the _nightmares, _any worse. But yesterday, in the _Prophet_..."

Harry stared him down as his best friend reluctantly handed him the _Daily Prophet_, open to the front page. There, staring directly at him, was the manic grin of Bellatrix Lestrange, so close to the image that haunted his dreams that he started in shock.

"Another attack?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Ron nodded reluctantly. "Not a person, this time. It was one of those great big eagle owls. They, er, they found the body on the Three Broomsticks doorstep. With the Dark Mark cut into its chest."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. Just outside Hogsmeade? The Dark Mark?

Bellatrix Lestrange was _that _close?

"Look, Harry, we're sorry we didn't tell you, only we know how you feel about all this –"

Harry waved away the rest of Hermione's apology with a tired smile. "That's okay, guys. I appreciate it, really. But you don't need to worry about me."

Ron visibly relaxed, apparently having expected a much louder, more vocal, and significantly angrier response. "Sorry, mate. But, there's your answer. That's why they're still here."

The three of them exchanged a dark look. No one at Hogwarts liked the presence of the Aurors; the black-robed figures were everywhere, stationed outside classrooms, within the Great Hall, even occasionally coming into common rooms. They were _annoying, _and Harry knew that the younger years even found them scary.

In fact, they dressed a little bit too much like Dementors for Harry's own personal comfort.

* * *

><p><em>A scream cut into his awareness, as the wisps of darkness coiled around his vision and his body, rendering him blind and immobile.<em>

_A scream of pain, a sound of pure terror, a familiar voice. So devoid of the life that belonged there. _

_A boy, crying –_

"_Did you _love _him, little baby Potter?"_

Jerking awake, Harry shook the last vestiges of his dream out of his head, trying to blink away the image of the blackness and the silver and the curled up figure that he'd been unable to protect. He gasped, breathing heavily until he could get his lungs working properly again.

Impossible though he had once believed it was, the nightmares were getting _worse_. Harry wasn't even sure what they were about any more; he thought it was still Bellatrix Lestrange who inspired the chase, but he was convinced that it wasn't Sirius who he'd been unable to help this time. _A boy, crying..._

"Ugh. No. Leave it alone!" Harry whispered angrily to himself. He suffered enough without dwelling on his dreams while he was awake, too.

Knowing full well that attempting to go back to sleep now would result in a lovely replay of the nightmare he'd just escaped from, Harry sat up in his bed, tugging his pillow into place behind his back, and rubbed at his eyes. He found his wand, muttered a hasty _Lumos_, and decided that while he was at it, he might as well check on Malfoy. He'd dropped off to sleep once he was sure that the Slytherin was safely secured in his dorm, but it didn't hurt to check.

A Tempus charm revealed it to be 3.42am. _Wonderful, _Harry thought bitterly.

Pulling the parchment inside the area of light that his wand was emitting, Harry muttered quietly, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He watched in satisfaction as the ink bled into the parchment, and the school was sketched out before him.

Then the satisfaction disappeared. _Malfoy wasn't in his dorm._

Harry went cold. This had happened before – the blonde was a fan of midnight wanderings around the school. But that had stopped since the arrival of the Aurors. Malfoy hadn't left his dorm after hours for weeks.

_Where are you? What are you doing? Malfoy, what the hell is going on –?_

Harry stared at the Marauder's Map in shock. No, that couldn't be right. It was, quite obviously, impossible.

Nevertheless, the unmistakeable proof was there in front of him. The dot that represented Malfoy was, quite undeniably, at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Immediately, Harry's mind was working furiously to puzzle it out. He knew for a fact, after his weeks of watching the Slytherin this year, that even in his nighttime wanderings, the blonde did not go anywhere near the tower. He hadn't taken Astronomy this year, either.

It didn't take a genius to work out why.

So what the hell was the blonde playing around at? He wasn't planning on...? No. No, he wouldn't do that. Malfoy was a lot of things, but suicidal was not one of them.

Harry cursed, automatically tightening his hold on his wand, and started pacing. Something was going on, and he just needed to know what. Was Malfoy okay? How long had he been there? What was he _playing _at?

"Fuck it," he growled, and, sweeping up the map and his Invisibility Cloak, he shot straight out of the common room, headed at top speed towards the Astronomy Tower – and Draco Malfoy.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I think I panicked a few readers with the last chapter, risking Catnatural's wrath! All is explained...**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

It took Harry mere minutes to race through the castle towards the Astronomy Tower. He threw himself up the stairs, wand out and ready, taking the steps two at a time, while questions battled furiously for his attention in his head. His heart pounded painfully against the inside of his chest, and he was overwhelmed with an irrational fear that threatened to constrict his ability to breathe. He was certain he'd never moved so fast in his life.

Harry threw open the door, racing into the room before the solid wood could rebound off the wall and send him flying. He shrugged off the cloak instantly.

"Malfoy! _Malfoy_!" he yelled, casting a wordless, automatic _Lumos_ to make things easier.

It took half a minute's frantic searching before the dark shape registered in his peripheral vision, and he whipped round, wand raised, before he realised what it was. A body, sprawled out unceremoniously on the floor.

Harry hurried closer, panic flitting through him as he considered the possibility that Malfoy was dead – but no, surely he wouldn't have shown up on the map if he was? Would he? Harry ran the last few metres, dropping to his knees at Malfoy's side, noting with extreme relief the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

"_Shit_." The Slytherin was alive, but unconscious. And apparently not through choice. If it hadn't have been for the dark patch of blood glistening visibly in his pale hair, the arrogant bastard might have looked peaceful – but as it was, Harry was more preoccupied with working out what was going on than noticing the childlike innocence Malfoy's face took on in sleep. From what he could tell, the blonde had been attacked, but his current state prompted more questions than answers.

Harry bit his lip, then pulled out his wand. "_Rennervate_," he tried.

For a second, he thought the spell hadn't worked. But then, the grey eyes fluttered open slowly, and Malfoy's head turned a little as he made a little sound that might have been a groan of pain.

Harry put his wand back in his pocket, leaning closer so that the blonde's returning vision would encompass him. "Malfoy? Can you hear me?"

The silver gaze locked on him, and Harry decided he was impressed that someone who'd just woken up after a blow to the head could manage to look so disdainful. "Potter? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." The Slytherin attempted to sit up and look around, choosing to ignore Harry's comment, but Harry put a firm hand on his chest. "Just a minute, don't move yet. You'll probably fall straight back over anyway."

"Get _off_ me." The blonde's voice was pure hatred, but he stayed put.

"Once I've made sure you aren't going to die immediately, you can get up slowly, and then I'm taking you to the hospital wing, so that Madam Pomfrey can fix your arrogant head and you can get back to kicking puppies. Or whatever it is you do in your spare time."

The idea of going to the hospital wing clearly did not appeal to Malfoy. "What makes you think I need healing, Potter?"

"There's blood in your hair," Harry remarked. "It's yours."

"Really?" Malfoy shot back, the sarcasm dripping from his tone. "And here I expected to wake up, having been attacked, and find someone _else's _blood in my hair. Silly me."

Harry clenched his jaw, fighting off the oh-so-familiar urge to hit the bastard. Apparently, he hadn't been the first this evening, and the other person hadn't exhibited quite as much restraint. "Look, you stupid prick, just let me cast a healing charm, alright? I refuse to get expelled because you died instead of letting me help, and I ended up in a very compromising position with your body."

"They'd more likely congratulate than expel you." Malfoy's tone was dark, angry, and yet resigned at the same time.

"I doubt that. Murder _is _still illegal."

The Slytherin pursed his lips at that, but didn't comment. "Fine. Cast your stupid fucking healing charm, and then you can piss off. Speaking of, I'm pretty sure I told you to _leave me alone_, so I'm naturally extremely curious as to how the fuck you found me."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That polite request was issued before you were attacked and dumped at the top of the Astronomy Tower."

Malfoy looked around hastily, as if he'd only just realised where they were. Which was quite possible, he supposed. Harry saw the tightening of fists and the flicker of painful recognition before Malfoy returned the superior expression to his face with apparent difficulty. "I never gave conditions," he replied stiffly.

Rolling his eyes, Harry pulled out his wand again, and muttered a quick _Episkey_. "There. I think your head has healed, on the outside anyway – you've probably got concussion – but there's still blood in your hair."

"Contrary to popular opinion, the centre of my universe is not my hair, Potter," Malfoy snapped harshly. He sat up, a little too fast judging from the grimace that appeared on his face, and glared at Harry. "Now, fuck off."

Harry blinked in shock. "You need to get to the hospital wing –"

"I've been at this school as long as you have, I'm pretty sure I can make it there without your help, Potter," Malfoy snarled. "I'm not interested in being your latest charity case."

"Like it or not, whoever knocked you out is running around somewhere, and you're in no condition to fight them off." Harry pointed out, annoyed.

The Slytherin huffed out an exasperated breath. "Get. Out. It's not difficult."

Harry threw his hands up in the air. "You stupid dickhead!" He whirled, turning towards the door he'd come in by, snatching his Invisibility Cloak on the way out. He sent a furious glance at Malfoy, who returned the favour, and then reached out to wrench the door open.

He never managed the feat. The moment his skin touched the handle of the door, fire erupted around the edges of the wood – bright, hot, and unmistakeably real – and Harry threw himself backwards automatically. He stared in horror as the flames spread, not limited to the doorway, and crept rapidly along the walls, ceiling and windows. Within ten seconds, the entire top floor of the tower was enclosed in a bubble of magical fire, and Harry realised with a sinking feeling that there was no way out.

Harry tried _Aguamenti_ multiple times, yelling the spell furiously. As the jets of water hit the raging flames, they hissed, barely creating a gap in the yellow tongues of fire before turning to steam. Not even _Pyra glacia_ seemed to make any difference – the enchanted blaze was hot, and impervious to any spells he could think to throw at it. In fact, it seemed to be gathering strength, although Harry couldn't see that it was burning anything.

A small, broken sound from behind him made Harry twist round in shock, abandoning his attempts to put out the flames.

_Oh._

The realisation thudded home like a blow to the stomach. Harry had known Malfoy was scared of fire – after the near miss in the Room of Requirement, it would have been odd if he _wasn't _– but now he was presented with the reality, and it was far worse than he'd imagined.

Malfoy wasn't just scared; he was completely and utterly _terrified_ of fire. The Slytherin had hardly moved, still sat on the floor – but now, instead of slouching elegantly, he was curled tightly into a ball, and his face had gone whiter than Harry had ever seen it. His grey eyes jumped around the room, trying to take in every tongue of flame, as if he expected one of them to strike at any minute.

He was whimpering.

"Malfoy!" Harry ran towards the Slytherin, keeping his wand ready. "Malfoy – hey, look at me!"

The blonde's wild gaze focused on him for a second, before flitting away to watch the encroaching fire. Yes, Harry had been right; it were definitely growing, burning hotter and hotter, dancing closer each time it flickered.

Harry tried again, desperate to get the Slytherin's attention, but no matter how many times he said his name, Malfoy seemed oblivious. He was still whimpering, but now the sounds were punctuated with cries and pleas and apologies. He looked half mad, trembling and shuddering, and the more scared he got, the closer the fire crept.

"Please, Malfoy, just listen to me –"

A burning ember landed on one of the blonde's sleeves, glowing bright red. It was out by the time he'd registered it, frozen in shock as he was, but in his current state, that was all it took to send him over the edge.

"_Don't hurt me!"_ Malfoy screamed, rocking backwards and forwards, beating at his clothes in case there was more fire threatening to consume him. Even as the thought ran through Harry's head, the flames redoubled their efforts, roaring and dancing faster and with more energy than before. He watched in dismay as the blaze, which had been limited to the walls and ceiling, started to edge its way along the stone floor. It wasn't feeding off anything but magic, but Harry was sure that when it reached them – and at this rate, it most definitely would – it would act just like a normal fire.

Now Harry felt the panic starting to take over. He grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders. "You have got to listen to me! Just calm down!" he shouted frantically.

"I'm going to die, oh, God, _please_..." Malfoy wailed. Harry knew that no matter how much he hated the cocky bastard sometimes, he would never have done this to him. The terror of his ex-nemesis was just too heartbreaking.

"Draco, listen to me."

The shock of hearing his first name come out of Harry's mouth must have done something that all the shouted pleas in the world couldn't, because Malfoy turned to Harry with wide eyes and a degree of concentration. It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Draco," Harry repeated, seeing Malfoy focus more on him now. "Draco Malfoy, I will not let you die."

The Slytherin swallowed, and Harry saw tear tracks down his pale cheeks. He took a deep breath, knowing that he didn't have long before Malfoy started screaming again.

"Listen to me, okay? The fire – I think it's linked to you. The more scared you are, the closer it gets. You need to _calm down_, and it will stop."

"Linked to me?" Malfoy asked hoarsely. Harry nearly collapsed with relief as he realised that the blonde really was listening to him.

"It's an enchanted fire, obviously. I think it was set to go off when someone – you – tried to leave the room; that's why you were left here. You were supposed to be in here alone when the spell was triggered."

The grey eyes blinked, a degree of sanity returning to them. "And I was supposed to go crazy and get burnt to death."

Harry bit his lip, then nodded. "Yeah. I think."

Malfoy threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling until it seemed that he was going to rip his hair out, still rocking backwards and forwards. "Okay. Okay. Breathe."

Watching someone try to conquer one of their greatest fears was not anything Harry had ever had to go through before. He felt his heart go out to Malfoy, who looked nothing short of vulnerable, muttering quietly to himself with drying blood matted into his white-blonde hair. The flames crackled ominously, and Malfoy hadn't stopped shaking. He cringed every time the fire popped loudly, whimpering every so often as he threatened to lose hold of himself again.

"It's okay, Draco." Harry put one hand on Malfoy's shoulder, and squeezed gently.

Slowly but surely, the flames dimmed, and began retreating.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I have been absolutely awful at updating recently! D: There is no excuse. So, as an apology, I give you this chapter. It contains a tiny bit of adorableness :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

The fire crept back up the walls with what Harry thought might have been angry reluctance. The tongues of flame were still hot, hot enough that the room was now very warm – but they were moving back, and away, and suddenly the floor was empty of them again.

"Yes!" Harry crowed softly, turning and flashing Malfoy a triumphant smile. Apparently, the Slytherin wasn't up for celebrating his victory; he looked pale, tired, ill, and only marginally less petrified. He was shaking and breathing hard, and didn't meet Harry's eyes.

Looking around, Harry saw that much of the room was still covered in angry yellow fire, including the door, and they were no longer retreating. It was with a sinking feeling that he realised this was as low as the flames would go, or as low as Malfoy would be able to keep them. If they waited any longer, they risked running out of air, or worse, the fire would gain strength and ground again. The rest was up to him, and he needed to act fast.

Harry grabbed an unresisting Malfoy, hauling the blonde to his feet and half holding him there, as gently as he could. Summoning his Invisibility Cloak and hastily folding it inside his clothing – the safest place for it right now – he gripped Malfoy's arm. "I'm going to try and hold off the fire while we get out. Stay calm, trust me, I will not let you get hurt. Okay?"

The Slytherin swallowed, eyes watching the fire warily. The blaze jumped up a notch, getting hotter, brighter – and then dimmed as the blonde took a deep breath. Harry could clearly see the effort it took for him not to panic, and felt a vague feeling of awe.

"Okay," Malfoy finally whispered, straightening slightly.

"Ready?" Harry glanced his way to check, and then pulled him gently forward, as close to the exit as they could get without being singed. He aimed his wand towards the door handle, knowing that it was the most important place to banish the fire from.

"_Aguamenti_!"

Harry threw as much force behind the spell as he could. The water jetted from his wand, and he gritted his teeth in the effort of sustaining it. Keeping his wand pointed towards the door, he grabbed the handle and flung it open, breathing an inward sigh of relief when the fire didn't form a wall where the door had been, and ushered Malfoy out. He followed, breaking off the spell an instant before he dived through to safety.

Harry lay on the cold stone floor for a second, breathing heavily, before pushing himself forcefully away from the ground. "Malfoy?" he asked hurriedly, turning towards the blonde. "Are you okay? That was fantastic, you did amazing –"

Malfoy was still making whimpering noises under his breath, looking lost and small and young. He swayed precariously on the spot, eyes glazed. Harry reached out to steady him.

And, somehow, before he quite knew what was going on, Harry found himself with his arms full of a sobbing Draco Malfoy.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, I promise," he murmured soothingly, one hand gently rubbing circles on the Slytherin's back, the other stroking the blonde hair as Malfoy buried his face in Harry's shoulder. "You're okay."

It could have been a minute, or it could have been hours, there was no way of knowing. There was no sound except the convulsive sobs of the terrified Slytherin and the occasional "hush" or murmur from Harry, nothing to mark the passage of time. It didn't matter. Harry didn't feel any inclination to move.

Then Malfoy took a shuddering breath, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry."

He seemed to consider pulling away, but Harry kept him in a firm grip. He murmured his reply with his cheek resting against Malfoy's hair. "For what? You have nothing to apologise for."

"We could both have died because of me."

"But we didn't. We both _lived _because of you."

There was a moment's hesitation. Then, almost too quietly to be heard, "Thank you, Potter."

Harry laughed softly. He decided against telling Malfoy that he felt _he_ should be thanking the blonde, not the other way round. He also decided against telling him that the reason he was grateful to the Slytherin was simply that Malfoy hadn't died.

"Don't – don't leave. Not yet."

It was such an un-Malfoy thing to say that Harry stiffened in shock for a split-second before relaxing again. He felt a strange sensation, almost like the bottom of his stomach had fallen away, and tightened his hold on the blonde, deciding that he'd been right all year; protecting Malfoy was important. Probably the most important thing he'd ever done, and he'd killed Voldemort, for crying out loud.

Harry whispered his reply around a sudden lump in his throat. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

><p>"Mr Potter, can you describe to me the nature of the enchantment?"<p>

Having told the story at least five times, to at least fifteen different people, all Harry wanted was to go to bed. That, and visit Malfoy, but Madam Pomfrey had declared that the blonde would have no visitors for at least twenty-four hours.

He sighed. "It was fire that didn't need anything except magic to burn, and it was directly linked to Malfoy. The more scared he was, the closer the flames got to us."

Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows. "The spell was designed around Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes." Harry concentrated hard on controlling his temper. Why did everyone assume that the bad guys would always be after _him_? "I just happened to find him. He was already there, unconscious, and I think the curse was already set on the room by the time I arrived."

McGonagall stepped in. She'd been sent for as soon as Harry had made it to the hospital wing, and had been there to hear his explanation to Madam Pomfrey. Immediately after, when they'd both been thrown out so that the witch could concentrate on Malfoy, she'd swept them both up to her office. "While we're on the subject, Mr Potter," she spoke dryly, "I do have to wonder just _how _you managed to find Mr Malfoy. It seems like you both had an enormous stroke of luck. It also seems that you broke several school rules in order to save him."

Harry grimaced. "I know, but if I'm honest, I don't really care. I'd do it again in a heartbeat – better a few detentions than Malfoy dead."

She raised an eyebrow. "I happen to agree with you. And, presumably, you were just taking a nighttime stroll around the castle when you came across him?"

Instantly, Harry cottoned on to the excuse she'd not-so-subtly provided him. "Yes, I do it when I can't sleep sometimes." He had the good grace, at least, to look abashed. "I like the Astronomy Tower. It's peaceful, and I enjoy looking at the stars." He was sure he'd probably gone too far with that last lie, and that after sixth year, no one was likely to believe that the place of Dumbledore's death would be a cosy retreat for Harry Potter. But no one called him on it, and he was grateful.

"Well." McGonagall pursed her lips. "For the sake of fairness, I will take 20 points from Gryffindor house as a punishment for breaking school rules and acting recklessly. Be assured, if you hadn't done another student a great favour, then that punishment would be far worse and accompanied by several detentions, to be served with me personally. Your actions were admirable, but I hope that in future, Mr Potter, you will decide against leaving your dorm after hours."

Harry gave a small smile. He knew he'd just been thanked for what he'd done, and appreciated how fair the Headmistress was. "Sorry, Professor," he replied, injecting gratitude into his tone.

"I'm sure you are." McGonagall's voice was sarcastic, but fond. "Now, it's late, and I suggest you get as much sleep as possible. Mr Potter, kindly return to your dorm as quietly as I'm sure you left it."

She waved a hand to dismiss him, and Harry left her office, leaving her with several teachers who instantly began debating the situation as soon as the door shut behind him. His head was spinning, but he was practically dead on his feet – McGonagall was right, he needed sleep. Maybe he'd be allowed the day off tomorrow... Doubtful, but he could keep his fingers crossed.

* * *

><p>In the end, he received no such privilege. After dragging himself out of bed, and being frowned at by a quizzical-looking Ron, Harry spent the walk to Transfiguration describing what had happened in an undertone to his two best friends. He wasn't sure whether the incident was common knowledge; someone was likely to see Malfoy in the hospital wing, or realise that all the professors had been awake in the early hours of the morning, and then all of Hogwarts would know.<p>

It seemed, however, that the story had been kept quiet.

"McGonagall must be doing her nut," Ron whispered excitedly. "This is a really big deal. I reckon they'll keep it completely covered up, until they work out who it was."

Hermione frowned. "I think Ron's right. The worst part is, though, that someone was able to cast such a dangerous spell inside Hogwarts."

"D'you think it was a student?" Ron blinked at her.

Harry grimaced. "I think we're all in trouble if a student knows how to cast a spell like _that_. It's not the sort of thing you find in the library, is it?"

Hermione tilted her head. "No, but it's the sort of thing someone could have learnt, during the war."

"And now they want revenge on Malfoy." Ron whistled, looking somewhat impressed. "For whatever it is they've got against him. Or for generally being a prat, I don't know."

Feeling a frown creasing his forehead, Harry stopped himself from snapping at Ron for that comment, and addressed Hermione's suggestion. "It still seems a little much for a student to do. I think... I think it was someone outside Hogwarts."

"What, someone get into the castle to attack Malfoy, with all these Aurors about? I doubt it, Harry," Ron told him apologetically.

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, either way, it proves I was right," he announced happily.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry, you were correct when you guessed, based on no evidence, that there was someone either inside the castle or out who was actively attempting to sabotage Draco Malfoy."

Harry shot her a look, but followed it with a smile to show her he didn't mean it personally. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. Sorry we didn't listen," Ron grinned ruefully, diffusing the possibility of any further arguments on the subject.

The rest of the lesson passed by in silence, as Professor McGonagall – who was still somehow teaching, on top of her duties as a Headmistress – swept into the classroom. But Harry didn't stop thinking.

Ron was right; with a school full of Aurors, it seemed almost impossible that someone from outside the school could have made it into Hogwarts in order to attack Malfoy. They would have had no way of getting in and out undetected, surely... and yet, Harry _knew _that this could not have been Smith's doing, or any one of the countless other students that meant Draco Malfoy any degree of harm. It didn't fit, not at all.

No, this was someone who knew the Slytherin well, someone informed enough to know his worst fears and most carefully protected secrets.

Harry acknowledged grimly that they were in far worse trouble than even he had realised.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

It was three days before Malfoy returned to lessons.

When the Slytherin walked into their shared Potions class, Harry did a double take, before a grin spread unconsciously across his face. _He's okay_, Harry's mind sang happily. He noticed the limp, still left over from the bloody hippogriff attack. He saw how drawn and tired the blonde looked. But he didn't mind, because Malfoy was actually alive and breathing and very much not burnt to death.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have silence please!" Slughorn's voice barely made it over the chatter of the students. He clapped a couple of times, reminding Harry of a performing seal, and called out a couple more pleas for quiet before everyone started listening to him. "Unfortunately, today we will not be continuing with the plan I had set out for us. It appears that there is thievery abound in Hogwarts; almost half the stock of powdered bicorn horn and nearly all the Boomslang skin has gone missing. Therefore, we will be studying the complex theory behind the Growth Potion, instead of completing the practical."

Harry groaned along with everyone else. Potions Theory lessons were almost as bad as History of Magic, and involved a considerable amount of note-taking. Slughorn expected everything he said to be copied down, and the man was very fond of his own voice.

Around halfway through the lesson, Harry decided that the Growth Potion – by all accounts a hideous-tasting brew that worked similarly to Polyjuice, only with permanent effects, to speed up the growth process – was possibly one of the least valuable concerns he currently had.

He found a scrap of parchment in his bag, under the pretence of having dropped his quill. He scrawled the note, charming the parchment quietly in order to make it hug the wall of the Potions classroom as it made its way towards the intended recipient.

_Malfoy – I think we need to talk. I want to help. Potter._

Harry had reasoned it was pretty obvious who'd sent the note, but he'd signed it anyway. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Slytherin unfolded the parchment under his desk and scanned it.

The reply made its way towards Harry quicker than he'd expected. For a second he was confused, until he realised that the blonde had written his reply, in small, elegant script, on the back of Harry's own note.

_We have nothing to talk about_.

* * *

><p>Harry, Ron and Hermione were poised at the portrait hole of Gryffindor common room when an apologetic Seamus found them.<p>

"Sorry, you lot, but Hagrid's just sent me to tell you not to go and visit him today. He was on the second floor when I was coming back from the library."

"What?" Ron gaped, open-mouthed. "But I rush– I mean, I put in so many extra hours so we could go down there today!"

Seamus shrugged, grimacing. "He says sorry."

"Why can't we go down there, Seamus? Did Hagrid say?" Harry frowned. This wasn't the first time their friend had made this request, and it hadn't escaped his notice.

A voice from a few metres away floated towards them. "I'll bet he didn't, but I can tell you." Ginny stood and joined the group, ushering them away from the portrait and shutting the book she'd been reading with a snap. She held herself with a certain amount of self-importance.

"What's going on, Gin?" Ron frowned. He seemed put out that his younger sister was in the loop, while he was so clearly ignorant.

"Well." She shot them a significant look. "Harry, you'll remember, that time a few weeks ago? Remember what I told you?" Ginny paused, only continuing when Harry nodded obligingly; it earned him curious looks from Seamus, Hermione and Ron. Her voice was hushed, and her eyes flickered warily around the common room to check that no unwelcome ears were listening. "They've been having problems with the Forbidden Forest lately. All sorts of things that live deep inside it have been coming out. Apparently, there were giant spiders crawling around near the greenhouses, can you believe it?"

Ron shuddered. Harry knew that he was remembering their own incident with the Acromantulas in their second year. He registered alarm; the creatures lived far enough in that there had never been any concerns that they would come anywhere near the castle. Something big must be disturbing the Forest if it was getting this bad.

Ginny wasn't finished. "It's a real issue, Hagrid's really worried about it. They've been getting the Aurors to deal with it, but apparently if it gets any worse, they're going to have to stop people leaving the castle unsupervised."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she gasped. Harry felt a tug on his robes, and saw that she'd grabbed hold of him; her gaze slid to his meaningfully.

"Er." Harry looked up and realised Ginny was watching him. He plastered an expression on his face that he hoped was somewhere between horrified and impressed. "Wow. I can't believe they've managed to keep it quiet."

"How did you hear about it, anyway?" Ron demanded of Ginny.

She rolled her eyes. "I take Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid talks to me all the time; you know what he's like, he lets stuff slip. He ended up telling me everything last Tuesday when he was helping me feed a Blast Ended Skrewt."

Everyone winced at that; they remembered their own encounters with the things, which Hagrid being Hagrid had never understood other people's dislike of. Ginny nodded wisely, and then the sudden silence effectively ended the conversation.

Everybody went their separate ways; Ron, complaining loudly about how he'd worked himself half to death for nothing, disappeared with Seamus, no doubt to seek out Dean and find a way to procrastinate while causing maximum damage to school property. Ginny curled back up in her armchair with her book.

Harry waited until they'd all disappeared, before snatching Hermione's sleeve and pulling her out of earshot of everyone else. "What's up?" he hissed.

"I made a connection." She swallowed. "Ginny said the _Aurors _have been dealing with everything coming out of the Forbidden Forest."

He frowned, not understanding where she was going with this. "Yeah?"

"Well, it's just... If there was a big enough crisis, and all the Aurors were distracted enough... I think that it might have been possible –"

"For someone to get into the castle," Harry breathed. "Hermione, you genius. That night, with the fire in the Astronomy Tower, I bet you anything that all the Aurors were called to some sort of emergency down in the grounds. If they had a way in, anyone could have found Malfoy!"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed, bobbing her head. "And therein lies the problem: _anyone_."

* * *

><p>The disastrous note-exchanging in Potions was merely the start of a long series of attempts to gain Malfoy's attention, and not a single one of them worked. Harry spent days trying to catch up to the Slytherin in a corridor, only to find that he had apparently Disapparated; he'd tried waiting after lessons, searching for him at mealtimes, and once had even asked an astonished Pansy Parkinson if she could deliver a request for an audience.<p>

Harry finally decided that he'd had enough.

He knew he should have _expected _this; he'd known the bratty blonde for years. Malfoy was not the sort of person who was comfortable with sharing his feelings or secrets. Of course he was avoiding Harry – he was embarrassed about the show of emotion after the shock of the fire. The last time Harry had come across him showing any real weakness, they'd exchanged a flurry of spells in a duel that had ended with a near-death experience for the Slytherin.

Shuddering, he forced his mind not to think about that, or dredge up the mental images that were burned so deep into his memory. There were very few things in his past that Harry felt soul-wrenchingly guilty about, but casting _Sectumsempra _on Draco Malfoy in their sixth year was near the very top of the list.

He knew for definite that if he gave up on Malfoy, and the blonde's mysterious attacker made a move, then abandoning the Slytherin now when he needed Harry most would make it to the number 1 spot.

It was not the first time, and would definitely not be the last, that Harry had felt the wash of gratitude he did over having the Invisibility Cloak. Tugging the Marauder's Map from one of his inside pockets – its permanent home, now, since he'd taken to checking the map for Malfoy so often – Harry scanned the parchment for signs of his quarry.

He could barely believe his luck when the small dot labelled _Draco Malfoy _was revealed to be in the library, unmoving and most definitely alone. Now was the perfect time to strike.

Worried that Malfoy would finish his work and leave before he got there, Harry moved quickly through the castle, muttering apologies to the many people who he nearly knocked over in his haste. Before long, he was in the library – slowing down respectfully as he passed Madam Pince, who had been known to give detention for "barrelling through school like a lunatic" – and pulling his Invisibility Cloak over his head.

Harry made his way between the shelves quietly, trying to keep his footsteps from echoing. Judging by Malfoy's counterpart on the map, the Slytherin was sat on one of the study tables near the back of the library.

That was where Harry found him, still covered by the cloak, creeping soundlessly. The blonde head was hunched unobtrusively over a piece of parchment, surrounded by a pile of tomes that Harry could only assume had been levitated as opposed to lifted, they were so enormous. Malfoy was alone, looking almost small amongst the books and the parchment, and it made him seem oddly vulnerable. Harry stood there for a couple of seconds longer, a sad frown creasing his forehead. This scene was a far cry from the way Harry would have pictured the snarky Slytherin just a few years ago, and the thought made him feel strangely desolate.

"Malfoy."

The blonde whipped his gaze up, tensing as if he expected an attack, eyes searching frantically for whoever had spoken. His wand appeared in his hand – apparently he kept it tucked up in his sleeve, that was smart, Harry noted – and he looked ready to fly in any direction at a split-second's notice.

Recognising the fear in Malfoy's expression, Harry hastily yanked off the Invisibility Cloak, appearing suddenly in the middle of the library. It was too late for the Slytherin to make an escape now, and that was all Harry had wanted, not to scare the blonde senseless.

As he recognised the intruder, a scowl of anger spread across Malfoy's features. "Potter," he replied archly. "Have you _still_ not gotten the message? I overestimated your intelligence, clearly."

Harry took a step towards him. "Listen. I'm not here to gloat, or crack stupid jokes, or whatever you think it is I want. Malfoy, I'm trying to help you."

"I don't require your help," came the stiff, formal reply. There was a distinct lack of emotion in Malfoy's voice. "Please leave. I'm busy."

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm sick of you brushing me off like this! I _know _you're ignoring me, and that's not doing either of us any good. Please. Let me help."

This time, the blonde didn't reply, dropping his gaze back to his work. The scratching of his quill resumed, and for a few long seconds, Harry stared incredulously at him. After days of ignoring him, they'd reached the point where Malfoy was now planning to pretend he didn't exist at all – and it was absolutely infuriating.

"Fine!" Snatching a chair from the closest table, Harry pulled it so that he could sit, close enough to Malfoy to be obviously intrusive, but far enough away that he couldn't be suspected of sitting with the blonde. He decided stubbornly that he would wait as long as he needed to, and he wasn't giving up until Malfoy _talked _to him.

"I know what you're doing." The Slytherin finally cracked, his words sudden and too-loud in the silence that had fallen, after nearly fifteen minutes of ignoring the other boy's presence. His eyes smouldered with annoyance as he levelled his gaze at Harry. "And it won't work."

Harry smirked humourlessly. "Short of cursing me, Malfoy, you're not going to make me go anywhere."

The Slytherin shot him an icy glare, then rose to his feet in one quick, graceful movement, nearly knocking over his chair. Instantly, he began forcing books roughly into his bag, slamming shut the ones he'd borrowed from the library and sending them back to their shelves with a sharp, irritated flick of his wand. He flung his bag over his shoulder and made to leave, but was blocked by a quick sidestep that nearly caused the two of them to collide.

"Let me past, Potter," he snarled, attempting to stride past the barrier Harry had made.

Harry stared at him a moment longer, arms folded, but didn't make any more active attempts to stop him. "You need to listen to me."

"I don't see the point."

"You could be _killed_, Malfoy, you stupid bastard!"

The blonde sneered derisively at him. "Sorry, Potter, but I seem to have misplaced my ability to care."

At any other time, Harry would have snapped an angry reply, or thrown a curse. But in the face of what he'd seen Malfoy go through, and looking as he was at the closed-off, emotionless mask that the Slytherin was projecting, the words tugged unpleasantly at his insides instead of making him furious.

"Well, I care." He replied softly.

Malfoy started, and for a moment – just a fraction of a second – Harry thought he saw an open, honest warmth in the grey eyes. Then the Slytherin's face shut down, and the wall of ice slammed back into place. "No, Potter," Malfoy whispered, something close to hopelessness in his voice. "You don't."

And then, before Harry could open his mouth to reply, the blonde was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank you again for the overwhelming number of you who are sticking with this fic, and those of you who are reviewing - you have no idea how much it means to me!**

**Oh, and I'm sorry about the lack of Draco in this chapter...**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>

_He ran, footsteps muffled in the thick fog. Through the trees ahead, between twisted silhouettes, there were glimpses; flickers, whispers. Shadows lived here._

"_Did you _love _him, little baby Potter?"_

_A cackle, a flash of midnight. He saw silver, just a hint of a moment of grey. Then white. Fear. It was her, the murderer, and she was back; if he didn't catch her, she would claim another victim._

_He heard cries, cries of pain. A familiar voice, warped by agony, and the sound was nothing short of a knife in his gut._

"_He woke up fwightened, and saw what he dweamed was twoo..."_

_It was all her fault. She was hurting him –_

"Crucio!_"_

_Screams, and a bright light. Someone fell to the floor, and someone had cast a spell, but it was all moving too fast to know... And then, deadly silence, so quiet that he feared she'd gotten away._

"_Come out, come out, little Harry!"_

_There was a break in the trees. He saw two figures. Protect the boy; he's silver and white and she's _hurting _him –_

"_Don't you _love _him, little baby Potter..."_

_Blackness._

Harry doused his face with cold water and blinked at his reflection blurrily. Even without his glasses, he knew that Hermione had been right when she'd remarked that he looked awful; shadows had taken a seemingly permanent hold under his eyes, and he looked white and pinched, as if he'd not eaten in days. He knew that his friends put it all down to his preoccupation with watching over Malfoy, but a considerable amount of it was lack of sleep.

Barely a night passed without some sort of dream that would cause him to wake, gasping for breath, in the early hours of the morning. The nightmare had been particularly vivid this time, too, bright and flashing despite being leeched of colour, and he'd not been able to get back to sleep afterwards.

To make matters worse, the dream had troubled him; it had been all wrong. Before this year, the nightmare had always stuck to the same events in the same order; he would chase Bellatrix Lestrange through the Department of Mysteries, desperate to avenge Sirius' death – reliving the night in his fifth year - and it would end with her escape. But recently, he'd been somewhere entirely different; Harry had recognised the dark, close atmosphere of the Forbidden Forest. And tonight, he'd also been driven to _protect_, not avenge... to protect a boy, no less. A small child, who he was sure he'd vaguely recognised from his past, but he hadn't gotten close enough to put his finger on the memory.

Harry frowned. Did it really matter? A nightmare was nightmare. It still kept him awake and it still wasn't worth dwelling on. Besides, it was probably all the talk of the Forest that had inspired the trees.

* * *

><p>A glint of gold danced tantalisingly in the air above Harry, just out of reach, and then it was gone.<p>

Leaning forward against his broom, Harry shot upwards in the direction of the Snitch, hearing the whoosh of air from his left that announced the Ravenclaw Seeker's pursuit of him. The girl had proved herself to be surprisingly agile in the air, all too difficult to shake, and Harry cursed as he sensed her moving into a chasing position at his side.

Zigzagging and throwing himself into a barrel roll, Harry angled upwards, and then pulled out of the near-vertical climb into the sky and shot after the Snitch as it made a sideways escape attempt. He reached out as it changed direction, bringing it within a foot of him.

And then the Ravenclaw Seeker appeared, a badly-judged burst of speed sending her hurtling into Harry. He righted himself before he could be knocked off course, but he'd missed the opportunity to end the game, and now they were both grabbing for the Snitch as it winged its way backwards and forwards. Harry felt his fingertips brush it, saw the blue-clad arm just inches from their prize – whoever grabbed it now won the game, the scores were nearly tied –

The whistle blew.

"What?" Harry shouted, confused, looking in the direction of Madam Hooch. She was by McGonagall's side, and the two looked to be in conversation with a tall wizard wearing dark robes. "But neither of us have the Snitch!" He glanced over to the other Seeker to verify his words, but she looked just as bewildered as he was. The Snitch in question had vanished, using the distraction as a chance to make its escape.

They weren't the only confused ones. A low muttering had started in the stands, no doubt encouraged by the obvious puzzlement of the Seekers and their teammates. Had there been a mistake...?

"Silence, please!" Professor McGonagall's magically amplified voice rang out. "I have an urgent announcement. Due to unfortunate circumstances, it has been decided that the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match will be postponed."

She was forced to stop for a moment as a loud swell of protest accompanied her words. The Quidditch teams were outraged enough for the entire school, but the spectators weren't happy either. _Postponed_? Harry resisted the urge to cry out in frustration; he'd been so close to winning the game for Gryffindor, just a hair's breadth away from placing them in the prefect position to win the cup...

McGonagall spoke again, even louder this time, and the angry, confused complaints were drowned out. "_Silence_! I would like all pupils to make their way quietly to their common rooms; prefects, please help where required. I expect the highest standard of behaviour, and for each and every person to conduct themselves sensibly. Those who do not live up to my expectations will suffer severe punishments."

The noise didn't stop, and for a moment it looked like the Headmistress was being ignored. Then, however, several people started moving, and with an overall air of disgusted disappointment, the massed crowds began to disperse and leave. Harry could imagine Hermione's businesslike efficiency in rounding up Gryffindor first years, and smiled inwardly despite himself.

Harry turned to his team, who were looking to him expectantly, hovering in the air uncertainly alongside the Ravenclaw players. "Go to the common room, take your showers and all that," he called to them. "I'll find out what's going on."

The Ravenclaw captain appeared to have issued similar orders, and joined his team as the gaggle of blue and red robed players all flew off to join the steady stream of students going into school. Harry himself headed in a different direction – towards the stand that still held the staff.

"Professor McGonagall," he said hastily, landing carefully and dismounting his broomstick, threading his way through the throng of teachers until he came close enough that she might hear him. "Professor!"

He had to wait a minute or so before the Headmistress turned to him, earning himself glances from other teachers that ranged from curious to disapproving. When McGonagall noticed his presence, she frowned at the sight of him, the expression severe. "Mr Potter, I have already said that the match against Ravenclaw will be rescheduled. Kindly escort your team back into the castle." She told him firmly, waving her hand as if to shoo him away.

"What's going on, Professor?" Harry's gaze flickered between her and the tall wizard by her side, who he now recognised as one of the Aurors. Possibly the one who was in charge. "Is Hogwarts under attack?"

McGonagall shot him a look that was loaded with warning, and turned away from the Auror to talk to Harry in a low voice where no one would hear them. "I understand that you are naturally curious, and I expected nothing less from you, Mr Potter. But now is most certainly not the time. It would be wise, therefore, if you were to join your housemates in Gryffindor Tower without further questions."

Harry had opened his mouth to ask something else, but he realised he was getting nowhere. He nodded silently and McGonagall moved away again, and, slinging one leg over his broomstick, Harry set a course for the grassy bank beside the entrance to the castle, from which he could make his way to the common room. No doubt he would be greeted by a curious and angry team, and a tower full of speculative, chattering Gryffindors.

As he flew, the sun bounced off something golden that was fluttering by his head. With a sigh, Harry threw his arm out towards it, grasping it easily with his Seeker's reflexes, and shook his head defeatedly at the Snitch that now rested in his tightly-closed fist.

* * *

><p>Things were getting very strange at Hogwarts this year.<p>

Harry toyed pensively with the edge of his robes as he considered that thought. Ever since the cancelled Quidditch match earlier that day, and the subsequent swarming of Aurors throughout the school, he'd been troubled by an unshakeable feeling of foreboding, something more than his never-ending concern for Malfoy – who he'd been relieved to find was safely in the Slytherin dungeons with Zabini, Parkinson and Goyle.

Hermione had been upset by the whole thing; Ron had ended up taking her to her dorm for a lie-down because she was so distressed. "This isn't fair. We don't deserve this," she'd muttered constantly, torn between fury and tears.

No one had been allowed to leave their common room. Thanks to a quick-thinking Neville, who'd managed to use a set of Extendable Ears to overhear a whispered conversation just outside the portrait hole, Harry had gleaned some information about why that was. "I think someone called Veronica Hartland was found unconscious. An Auror, by the sounds of things," Neville had told him in a low voice. Then he'd frowned, troubled. "I heard your name, Harry. I think... I think they're worried that whoever attacked that Auror is after you."

The thought didn't concern Harry as much as it probably should have done.

Ron was finding the whole thing very exciting, although he was careful to hide the fact from Hermione. "Reckon it was the Death Eaters?" he'd asked everyone within earshot.

Ginny's scoffed reply had made it clear how disdainful she was of her brother's question, and indeed his IQ. "How would they have gotten in, Ron? Don't be so stupid." But his suggestion had still appeared to take root in the minds of some of the first years, who were looking distinctly more terrified than they had been.

As a result of the attack, the security on the castle had been tightened. The heads of houses had been around all the common rooms, issuing the announcements.

"No student will be allowed outside the walls of the castle without being escorted by a teacher or Auror. Other than for classes, I do not expect to find anyone on the school grounds at all." McGonagall had sighed then. "I appreciate that this is bad news for you all, but it is for your own safety, and I have been told to assure you that this is only temporary."

Ron had leant in to whisper to Harry. "Sounds familiar, this, doesn't it?" He'd smiled wryly in reply, and had registered relief that Hermione was safely in her dormitory already.

Sighing and dropping the hem that he was rolling between his fingertips, Harry stood, shaking his head to try and clear the thoughts from it.

"Mischief managed," he said, tapping his wand against the Marauder's Map where it lay on his bed. The ink slowly disappeared, and Harry sought out one last glimpse of Malfoy's dot in the dungeons before the parchment went blank. It was a nice change for the blonde not to have been involved, Harry mused with an inward smirk. Normally _he _was the one being found unconscious.

Then his amusement vanished. Someone was attacking Aurors, getting into the school... By the sounds of things, the staff considered the inside of Hogwarts safe, so it was his guess that the Auror had been found out on the grounds somewhere. But it wasn't much of a stretch for the mysterious attacker to have gotten inside, and Harry felt a jolt of panic.

Malfoy wasn't safe, not at all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

It was the beginning of March, and by now, exams were a black shadow hanging over every single seventh year in Hogwarts.

The clamp-down on security had slowly loosened after a week or so, the Aurors grudgingly admitting that they were no closer to discovering what had happened, but the newly-acquired freedom to spend time outside meant nothing to those who were studying for exams – they couldn't utilise it anyway, holed up as they were with their books and essays and notes.

The stress of NEWTs was driving Hermione to the brink of utter despair, and she worked with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a lifejacket. Hermione's franticness in turn was driving Ron to the brink of madness, and he alternated between bouts of indiscriminate fury, and staring morosely out of the nearest window.

Harry wasn't faring much better. He found it all too difficult to concentrate on the upcoming exams, and his work suffered. He was still trying as hard as he could to get Malfoy's attention, but since their meeting in the library, he hadn't been able to get close the blonde. Meals, lessons, in the corridors... grudgingly impressed, Harry had admitted to himself that he'd never seen anything quite like it.

It was as if the blonde had vanished from Hogwarts. The idea had panicked Harry so much when it had first occurred to him – how was he supposed to protect Malfoy, if he wasn't even at the school? – that he had gone to ask Professor McGonagall to reassure himself. She'd informed him, with an odd look, that Mr Malfoy was most definitely still in Hogwarts. He'd left before she could ask him why he was so curious.

Harry knew that both of his friends were concerned about him. Ron had tried plenty of times, every one of them awkward, to distract him; suggestions of games of wizard's chess, extra Quidditch practise and visits to Hagrid were almost hourly occurrences. Harry knew that Ron was more confused than anything else by his behaviour.

Hermione spent her time watching him, rather than trying to get him to talk. She'd always been the more discerning of the pair, and Harry had a feeling that she was aware of each and every time he pulled out the map to check for Malfoy, or tried to catch up with him after a lesson, or scanned the Slytherin table to find him absent.

It wasn't until he came across the two of them talking in hushed tones in a corner of the busy Gryffindor common room that Harry realised just how concerned his friends were.

"... doesn't think we notice," Ron was saying worriedly. Harry had ducked through the portrait hole and made his way towards them without being detected, probably due to the buzz of noise in the room.

He could almost picture Hermione biting her lip when she replied, although both of them had their backs to him. "It's starting to scare me. It's even worse than sixth year, and that – well, I thought that was bad enough."

"D'you think it's a spell, or something?" Ron asked, and he sounded almost hopeful.

Hermione sighed. "No. If it was, that would be far simpler."

There was silence for a couple of seconds as they both thought about that.

"Why does he even bother, anyway? It's not like him – I mean, he hated the prat for _years, _and now he's, well, practically stalking him. Again." Ron sounded genuinely bewildered.

Hermione seemed less so, and Harry didn't like the knowing ring in her voice when she replied. "Ron, I don't know how to say this, but... I think he's –"

Harry decided he really didn't want to hear the end of that sentence. "Let me guess, you think I'm an idiot." He heard his own voice, flat and harsh, carrying just enough over the background noise for both of his friends to hear and recognise it.

Ron and Hermione spun round, and if there'd been any doubt about what they were discussing, the guilt on their faces clearly dispelled it. "Harry," Hermione said hastily, trying to smile but not quite managing it. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he snapped in reply, keeping his voice cold.

"It's not what it sounded like, mate," Ron sounded panicked, tripping over himself in the hurry to scramble to his feet and get the words out.

For a moment, Harry couldn't do anything except blink at his friends. "What was it, then?"

"Well, we just..." Ron looked down, shifting uncomfortably, and then sent a desperate glance in Hermione's direction.

Pursing her lips, she poked Ron in the side and made her way towards Harry, indicating for him to sit. Letting his eyes narrow slightly, he complied, aware that a stand-off in the middle of the common room would attract attention, although he felt like the action implied too much _giving in _for his liking.

Hermione took the arm of the chair he'd taken. "Harry," she sighed, putting a hand on his wrist. "We're sorry. We should have told you face to face, instead of... this."

He raised his eyebrows. "Told me what?"

She took a deep breath. "That we're worried about you."

"I gathered that much from your conversation," Harry shot back sarcastically.

"Sorry about that," Hermione told him, having the good sense to look embarrassed and apologetic. "It's just..."

"Spit it out, don't be shy," he said, a sneer in his voice. Then he blinked, alarmed at his own tone, and looked away.

If Hermione had been shocked, she hid it admirably. "Well, what you're _doing_, Harry..." Then, in a rush: "It's getting dangerous now. You need to stop."

At her words, Harry found his annoyance turning instantly into awkwardness. Until now, he'd managed to avoid this topic with his best friends, and he'd liked it that way; he knew they disapproved, and he wasn't interested in hearing warnings or answering questions. "Stop what?" he muttered childishly.

Hermione sighed again. "You _know_ what, Harry." She paused, apparently hoping that he would say something, but when he remained quiet, she continued. "You need to stop worrying so much about Draco Malfoy. It's affecting you."

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling a little of his earlier indignation returning to him. "I'm fine."

"Yes, that's why you've missed three homework assignments in the last two days, and _forgot _to _eat _for the entirety of Tuesday." She looked so disbelieving about the fact, so taken over with motherly disappointment, that he felt a wave of unwelcome guilt.

"You don't need to worry about me," he tried to reassure her, addressing the sentence to Ron as well, who looked distinctly ill at ease. Harry's voice sounded weak, even to him. It was true, he really had forgotten to eat; between trying to remember times for his detentions and keep an eye on Malfoy, it had seemed unimportant.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "We're your friends; it's our job to worry. But you need to leave this Malfoy thing alone, before it gets really serious."

"It _is _serious! He nearly died, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, doing his best to keep his voice low.

"Serious for _you, _not for Malfoy. I don't know if you've looked in the mirror recently, Harry, but you're an absolute state," she frowned. "You need to give this up."

"No, I can't!" he replied hotly. "Someone needs to take care of him!"

A look of understanding flitted across Hermione's face, to be replaced with sympathy. "I know you're concerned. And it's admirable – it's good of you to care. But the teachers can handle this, Harry. You don't need to kill yourself for Malfoy."

"I'm not killing myself," Harry snapped. The volume of their conversation was starting to rise, slowly, and that last retort earned them a few confused glances.

"Harry, I know why you're so worried about him," her voice was quiet, and full of something that was suspiciously close to pity. "I understand what's going on –"

Harry stood up suddenly, making Hermione jump back in shock and Ron curse in surprise. The glare he shot Hermione was so fierce that she quailed in fear, and for a second, Harry was horrified at himself, but then the wash of feelings was upon him again, and he just couldn't care.

"No, Hermione, you _don't!_" he shouted furiously, feeling his face go red with anger and his breathing turn heavy. He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, seeing the hurt and disbelief there, then turned his livid expression on Ron. "Neither of you do!"

Without waiting for a response, Harry turned and hurled himself up the stairs to his dorm, ignoring the stares of shock that his behaviour had elicited from the entire Gryffindor common room.

* * *

><p>Harry yanked the Invisibility Cloak off with a jerky, angry movement and a sound of annoyance. He let it fall in a silvery pool of material by his feet, rubbing his face with his hands.<p>

It was the middle of the night, and Harry wasn't quite sure why he was sat on the floor of the Astronomy Tower. He hadn't been back since the fire and it most definitely would not help him sleep, but when he'd thrown back his bedcovers and escaped through the portrait hole, this was where his feet had inexplicably taken him.

_It's peaceful, and I enjoy looking at the stars, _he'd told McGonagall, after the last time he'd been here. Maybe that was true, he acknowledged, realising that for the first time in weeks, he was able pretend he was escaping the tangled web of craziness that his life had become; he'd even left the Marauder's Map in his dorm, deciding that a break from Malfoy-watching was what he needed. Harry had a hideous suspicion as to the identity of the boy who now featured regularly in his nightmares, and after arguing so badly with Ron and Hermione, he was even starting to doubt whether or not he was doing the right thing.

After all, Malfoy himself had told him to fuck off and leave it alone. Who was Harry to disobey his wishes, if the stupid blonde git was so hell-bent on playing the defenceless, tragic victim?

Harry made a noise of disgust. _This, _he told himself, was why he couldn't sleep; it most definitely wasn't healthy. This and the never-ending bloody nightmares. And the threat of Death Eaters.

Hermione was right when she said that they shouldn't have to _do _any of this any more. Surely Harry had earned the right, after everything he'd done, to being left alone and getting a bit of peace and quiet? Why should he have to deal with yet more demons, after all the evil he'd already gotten rid of?

Why did he feel such a hideous obligation to protect someone who, by all rights, he should hate?

"Damn you, Malfoy!" Harry snarled. A fit of violent anger swept over him, clouding everything with a red mist, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to destroy the closest thing to hand. This was _not _fair –

He whirled, sending his fist slamming hard into the wall with as much force and fury as he could manage. A crunching noise that was most definitely not the stone echoed throughout the room.

"Damn it!" Harry hissed, cradling his hand to his chest. The pain was sharp and demanding, and he suspected he'd broken a few fingers and possibly his wrist.

He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning forward until he could rest his forehead wearily on the stones. Without warning, as quickly as it had come, the fit of childish rage was gone. His anger had been sapped away by the stab of fractured bones, his stupidity grounding him. Harry knew he'd been wrong to try and shift the blame; his pathetic preoccupations were no one else's fault. And he was a complete and utter moron if he'd expected the world to turn into a paradise full of sunshine and daisies so soon after all the horror of the war. That wasn't how real life worked, and he should be enough of an adult by now to know it.

"_Episkey._"

Harry felt his hand go hot, then cold, then numb – and then feeling returned to his healed fingers. He whipped round, his wand still in his robes and completely unused.

Harry felt his jaw gape open as he took in the identity of the spell caster. There, stood before him, was Draco Malfoy.

It had been weeks since he'd even set eyes on the Slytherin. Yes, he still looked the same, mostly, but there were small differences; the skin under his eyes was dark and bruised, suggesting that he'd been sleeping as little as Harry, and he looked paler than Harry remembered. The most drastic change, however, was probably the sheepish expression on his face – _that_, surely, had never been there before.

"Harry." The silver eyes met his, steady and intense. "We should talk."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Er... Really sorry about the cliffhanger last time... I love you all! :D**

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><p><strong>C<strong>**hapter Seventeen**

It took Harry a moment to recover from the shock of hearing his first name coming out of Malfoy's mouth. It took a further few seconds before he could register what the blonde had said, and by that time, Malfoy was talking again.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I've... I've messed you around, and you were only trying to help." He glanced down and away, one hand folding in his robes nervously. Harry watched in fascination. He'd never seen Malfoy like this. "I figured you deserved an apology, at least."

Harry realised he was supposed to talk, and managed to form words. "Right," he said stupidly, then shook his head, and started again. "I mean – okay. I'm glad you decided to talk to me." He sent a timid smile in the Slytherin's direction.

Malfoy returned it hesitantly, and Harry's heart seemed to miss a beat. Then the expression faded. "I've been a complete prick," he sighed, putting his face in his hands. His hair was messy, far from its usual deliberate, elegant style, and he ran his fingers through it, making it worse; it was such an un-Malfoy thing to do that Harry felt a wave of sympathy for him.

He took half a step towards Malfoy, automatically raising one hand as if to put it on his shoulder or even pull him into a hug. But then Harry thought better of it, realised just what he'd been attempting to do, and let his arm drop to his side. He allowed the empathy to stay in his voice, though. "You've had a bad year. I wouldn't – I don't blame you for it."

The blonde sighed. "Yeah, what with people trying to kill me."

Harry frowned, not liking how casually the blonde had spoken about attempts on his life. "Malfoy... you are... being careful?" he asked, then winced at the way it sounded. He didn't need to come across as something akin to a nagging housewife. "I mean, I know no one else seems to be able to see it, but all the stuff that's been happening... Just, you're not taking stupid risks, right?"

Malfoy smirked. "I've barely been leaving the dungeons; after all, I've been hiding from _you_ for Salazar knows how long. You seem to have a habit of turning up at inconvenient times."

"Sorry about that." Harry looked down, uncomfortable.

"Good, because it was extremely annoying." The blonde paused, then turned to stare out of the window. His voice turned quiet, reflective. "But it was nice, knowing someone actually gave a shit."

"Anytime," Harry replied, before thinking. The automatic offer startled Malfoy into meeting his gaze, and for a second, they gazed at each other with something that might have been understanding; but then they were both dropping their eyes awkwardly, and it was impossible to ever know for certain.

There was silence for a couple of seconds, before Harry cleared his throat. "What are you doing up here?" he asked cautiously. Of all the times and places to accidentally come across Draco Malfoy, the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night was most definitely not the scenario he would have expected.

Strangely, Malfoy seemed embarrassed by the question, ducking his head, a faint blush colouring the little of his face that Harry could see. This version of him was almost... endearing, Harry thought with a shock. "I couldn't sleep. I like to wander around the castle at night." To his horror, Harry found himself having to choke back an "I know", realising at the last second that he _shouldn't _know at all. "I heard footsteps and I expected it to be Filch or an Auror, so I hid – but the footsteps went right past me without anyone actually being there." Malfoy smiled sideways at Harry. "I imagine _that_ has something to do with it," he added, indicating the Invisibility Cloak.

"You followed me here?" Harry queried, in a quiet voice.

"I wasn't sure, but yes, when I thought it might be you... I decided that maybe now would be a good time to apologise." Malfoy glanced up to meet his gaze. "You were just trying to be friendly this year, and I threw it back in your face."

Harry bit his lip. He felt that any reply right now would be the wrong one.

"I _am _grateful that you helped me out with Smith. Really. And you've treated me much better than most people have this year – you didn't have to do that. I know you didn't." The blonde looked away, his expression and demeanour distinctly uncomfortable. "I shouldn't have been so quick to expect the worst. Old habits just die hard."

It was a very long few seconds before Harry could get his head around what Draco Malfoy had just said to him. "That... was unexpected," he finally managed.

The blonde gave a humourless laugh. "I can act like a human being when I put my mind to it."

"That is one hell of a revelation. I might need a couple of minutes," Harry joked.

A comfortable silence descended, this time much more companionable than the first, awkward one. Malfoy had just apologised, and from the sounds of things, he really meant it. There was a possibility that he'd even let Harry _help _– and Harry realised that he had a few things to say, too.

Steeling himself, he coughed to get Malfoy's attention, happy when the grey eyes met his without a trace of a disdainful sneer. "Look, I'm sorry. I should have respected your privacy the first time you told me to piss off." Harry gave him a wan smile, and then took a deep breath. "But I thought your life was in danger, and when I tried to talk to other people about it, they didn't believe me. Which is why I've been watching you all year, and I –"

"You've been doing _what_?" Malfoy's voice cracked out like a whip, flat and harsh and demanding.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw his mistake. Slowly but surely, like cold water trickling down his spine, the realisation hit him, and he cursed inwardly. The ice in Malfoy's expression was back, and Harry felt like he could sink through the floor in embarrassment and frustration.

But it was too late to take the words back now. "I felt... I felt responsible..." he tried weakly.

"Watching me? All year?"

Harry could do nothing more than nod, his throat constricting and stopping any further words escaping. It was just as well. They couldn't rescue him anyway.

"You had _no right_!" Malfoy was suddenly shouting, stepping closer to Harry in his anger. His eyes were burning with a mix of hatred and fury and it was possibly the only time Harry had ever been frightened of the blonde. "I don't care how fucking guilty you felt! I never, ever wanted to be in any kind of debt to you, Potter, and I sure as hell did not want to be your pet – fucking – _project_! You must get some really sick thrills out of playing the hero, you bastard, but I don't want any part of it!"

That was unfair. Harry clenched his teeth and felt himself losing his temper, even as the rational part of his brain attempted vainly to order him not to let Malfoy under his skin. There were just too many years of ingrained hatred.

The blonde saw it and his expression blazed with anger and loathing. His voice dropped, becoming low and dangerous. "What's the matter? So used to having people grovel at your feet that you can't handle someone who won't? Grow the fuck up. You are utterly pathetic, Potter. Stop using me to get your Saviour highs and just back _off_."

The words came before Harry could stop them. "You are one stubborn git, you know that, Malfoy? Could you be grateful for once in your stinking life? I was trying to help you! I was the _only _one trying to help you! Maybe I should just have let Smith beat the shit out of you."

For a second, Malfoy just stared at him, the pair of them shaking with barely-repressed ferocity, a hushed silence descending on them. And then –

_Smack._

The force of the blow sent Harry reeling, and for a second he thought his jaw might have been broken. But then the shards of pain that had been ripping through his face faded slightly, and it became clear that he could still move his mouth.

It wasn't his mouth he was interested in, however. His hands tightened into fists, and with a snarl of rage, he leapt at Malfoy. His fist connected with the pale cheekbone with a satisfying crunch, and sent the blonde careening into the stone wall that was the only thing that kept him upright.

"You ungrateful piece of shit." Harry nearly choked on the revulsion in those words. He glared as Malfoy righted himself, and a fiery gaze met his own.

"You always did think you were better than everyone else, Potter," Malfoy hissed. His hands were clenched into fists. The apologetic, awkward-looking boy from minutes before was gone, replaced with the furious, arrogant Malfoy that Harry was used to.

Harry sneered. "You're one to know about that, are you? You've never been anything except a traitor and a coward."

"You've never been anything but a worthless orphan who fed off other people's good luck."

And then everything became a flurry of fists and knees and shins, their wands and magic forgotten in place of something that was more in their base nature.

Harry felt a sharp pain in his ribs, and a shredding pain on one of his forearms that might have been Malfoy raking his nails along Harry's flesh. In return, his fist connected satisfyingly with the side of the blonde's head, and his knee pummelled the air out of Malfoy with a well-placed blow to his stomach. It was half-formed insults and angry snarls, yells and grunts of hatred and pain, and most importantly, inflicting mindless injury. Right now, consequences didn't matter to either of them; this was war.

A vicious kick to his ankle sent Harry awkwardly to the floor, but he used his new vantage point to yank Malfoy's legs out from underneath him. With a yelp, the blonde fell backwards, landing hard – but he'd flipped over before Harry hand a chance to recover, and then he was on top of him, landing blow after blow in a flurry of fists, from glancing misses to blocked attempts to a good shot that made Harry grunt in pain, as his already-aching jaw was cracked into the stone below him.

Harry's fingers scrabbled for the pale throat, even as Malfoy's hands tightened painfully in his hair and started attempting to smash his head repeatedly against the stone floor. Fighting the ringing in his ears, Harry gripped harder, and was rewarded with a small choking noise. The messy struggle would only last so long and whoever could hold out over the other right now would win.

Then Malfoy's eyes widened, and for a second Harry thought he looked genuinely scared. He wasn't looking at Harry any more, though; his gaze was on something that was out of Harry's field of vision, something above and behind him, and whatever it was had apparently shaken him enough for his hands to release Harry momentarily.

_What was...? _This was just some stupid ploy, it had to be –

Malfoy's voice, panicked - "Potter!"

A bright flash of light, and then the weight on top of him was gone.

It took an instant before Harry's sight returned, and when it did, it came back to him gradually. At first, all he could comprehend was grey blurriness, swimming lazily around him. Then vague shapes made themselves clear – one white, one red, just blocks of colour.

And then Harry's vision returned fully and he realised what he was seeing. Malfoy was sprawled on the stone floor, shaking uncontrollably, his body slashed apart by half a dozen ribbons of red. A pool of blood slowly gathered around him and he was making noises of obvious agony, little whimpers and gasps.

The scene tipped Harry's brain into a painful and startling flashback. He knew exactly what this reminded him of; they didn't need to be in a bathroom in their sixth year for Harry to understand, and it didn't matter that just seconds ago he'd been willing to rip the blonde's limbs off. Someone had cast _Sectumsempra _on Malfoy, and now he was dying.

"_Episkey! Episkey!" _Harry cried, jabbing again and again with his wand as he scrambled over to where Malfoy lay, hands pulling at his chest and clothing as if he could help himself.

He grabbed the blonde's shoulders, trying to stop him from opening up the wounds any further. Right now, he couldn't care about the approach of footsteps behind him – the only thing that mattered was stopping the bleeding.

Harry pointed again with his wand, even though he knew he was casting completely the wrong spell. He remembered the sounds of Snape murmuring the counter-curse, a sound almost like music, knowing that he would never be able to recreate that spell from the hushed sounds in his memory. "_Episkey_!" he growled.

He nearly fainted in relief when the blood stopped. Dark red and in amounts that sent Harry to the edge of hysterical panic, it pooled around Malfoy, staining his hair and clothes. At least it had stopped pouring out of the wounds, but the deep slashes were nothing close to healed. He cast the spell several more times, but the _Sectumsempra _wounds would only knit together for the right spell, and despite his best efforts, Harry didn't know it. Malfoy needed Madam Pomfrey.

Grey eyes found his, unfocused and hazy, but the blonde seemed to have seen him anyway. "Turn round – it's her –" he slurred, the desperation clear in his voice despite how weak it was. His eyes were fluttering shut, mouth twisted into a grimace of pain.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked frantically. "Malfoy!"

But the blonde wasn't responding. His grey eyes had shuttered closed completely, the expression dropping off his pale features. Within seconds, only the alarmingly shallow movement of his chest showed that he was alive at all.

Harry shook him as roughly as he dared. "Malfoy, please, wake up – _Episkey _–"

"Poor little baby – you're far too late."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Sorry, everyone. Last time I was apologising more for the wait between updates than the cliffhanger, I should have been clearer on that :P and I definitely shouldn't have done it again, so I'm sorry for the wait.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

The voice was taunting and tinged with something that could only be madness. Whipping round, Harry saw three figures; two witches and a wizard, by the look of things. The one who had spoken appeared to be the one in the middle, one of the witches. Aurors, all of them unfamiliar. One of them must have cast the spell.

"What are you _doing_?" Harry bellowed, leaning protectively over the blonde's limp form, furious at his helplessness and the knowledge that every passing second, Malfoy was getting closer and closer to death. "He's a bloody student!"

The witch who'd spoken stepped forward. A redhead, tall, imposing, and a complete stranger; but when she laughed, the sound was a cackle, and hideously familiar. "We both know Draco is more than just a student, now don't we?"

Harry blinked, confused. _Draco...? _"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Draco knew," she purred, her shrill, half-mad voice inspiring the chill of unwelcome recognition in Harry. "He worked it all out from the hints I left. He always was a clever boy; it's a shame he never had a backbone."

Torn between trying to decipher her cryptic words and the overwhelming desire to see Malfoy's silver, _living _eyes again, Harry glanced between the two faces in panic and confusion, utterly lost as to what he should do. "What? Why are you –?"

"Amazing," the witch snapped in cold hatred, effectively cutting him off, "that someone like _you _could ever have defeated the Dark Lord."

_It's her –_

Realisation slammed into Harry a moment later like a fist in the gut, sending him reeling. The feeling was so strong and powerful that it battled with the chilling horror of Malfoy's tenuous grip on life. "You!" he gasped, whirling to face her, hand fumbling automatically for his wand.

Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, and now Harry couldn't believe he hadn't known her from the moment he heard that sound. "Surprised to see me back, Potter?"

She had her wand in her hand, pointed at him, even while he pulled his own out and aimed it in her direction. Beneath their robes, the two others also seemed to have grips on their wands; he was outnumbered.

Harry grit his teeth, resisting the overwhelming temptation to curse her and hang the consequences – but he was conscious, oh so conscious, of Malfoy sprawled defenceless behind him. One spell, and the Death Eaters would retaliate, and he couldn't be sure that he could protect the blonde from all the stray curses. Instead, his mind worked frantically for a way to keep them talking. "Polyjuice, I assume."

Eyes that should have been blue gleamed, and for a second Harry saw the gaze of Voldemort's most loyal servant. "Itty bitty Potter's almost as smart as Draco," she cooed, with a laugh that bordered on hysterical. "Right now, I'm all dressed up as Veronica Hartland, and Alecto and Antonin managed to find some pretty faces, too. They won't last much longer... but we'll have long enough."

"To do what?" Harry snarled. "Kill me?"

She raised her eyebrows. "It's not a bad idea. The Dark Lord would want revenge." Her voice was sibilant, angry, sorrowful. "But we're here for my lovely nephew – you're just a bonus, baby Potter. After all, you're not a filthy traitor. Without Draco's little betrayal, you would never have taken down Voldemort anyway – it's him that needs punishing." At that last, she turned a furious expression on Malfoy's unconscious form.

Harry stepped minutely to the side, to try and shield the blonde from her view and any spells she might cast. It was down to him to protect Malfoy, he knew that, and the Death Eaters had another thing coming if they thought he was going to give up on the Slytherin _now_ after all Harry had done for him this year. "You want him, you'll have to go through me."

Bellatrix threw back her head and laughed. For a moment, the auburn hair seemed to change into her own midnight tresses, the embodiment of the darkness that had haunted his nightmares all year. "Baby Potter wants a fight," she said gleefully. Then her gaze snapped to his, and the amusement in her voice was replaced with a determined madness. "And he'll get it."

"_Stupefy!_"

A mad cackle met his spell as the curse was parried almost effortlessly. He tried again, this time wordlessly, but the red bolt of magic was blocked for a second time.

"Got to do better than that!" Bellatrix told him gleefully. Half a second later, a curse was sent in his direction, and it was only his cry of "_Protego!" _that kept it from hitting him full in the chest.

Without thinking, Harry dived sideways, and now he was no longer between the Death Eaters and Malfoy's body. Swearing under his breath, he rolled to his feet, only to find his efforts hindered by a pile of silvery material that seemed to turn the ground under him to water.

The Invisibility Cloak. Firing off a rapid and badly-aimed stunner, Harry steadied himself and snatched the cloak from the ground. They couldn't hurt Malfoy if they couldn't see him –

This time, he aimed his wand at the ceiling. "_Reducto!"_

The stonework crumbled, sending a shower of dust and rock down onto the three figures below. A shriek erupted from somewhere within the chaos, and Harry registered with grim satisfaction the possibility that he had succeeded in injuring someone – but he was already moving, rushing to Malfoy's side, throwing the cloak over his body and feeling uncertain relief when the blonde disappeared from sight.

He had to draw fire away from where Malfoy lay, he knew that. With another _Reducto _at the wall closest to the trio of Death Eaters, he watched with approval as they cast hasty Shield Charms to stop the debris hitting them and were briefly obscured from his view, and vice versa. He took several running steps sideways, dropping into an all-too-familiar defensive crouch, hoping beyond hope that his ruse wasn't seen through.

With another flash of light, the dust and rock was gone from the air, and two of the Death Eaters stood before him. The wizard, Dolohov, was stood with his wand in his hand, but Carrow's Polyjuiced form was sprawled on the floor – Harry had gotten lucky with his last spell.

Bellatrix Lestrange was still very much conscious, however. She looked around, a hungry look in her borrowed blue eyes that darkened the colour of them into something much more menacing. She seemed to be looking for Malfoy, all the while keeping Harry in her sights, and when she couldn't find the blonde, her face split inexplicably into a twisted, humourless grin.

"Oh, well played, Potter! Clever boy!" she cried, her feverish gaze alighting on him. "It's too bad you didn't think of this when it could have saved poor Sirius – _Respirasero!_"

Harry blocked the unfamiliar curse and felt himself starting to see red. "How dare you?" he bellowed. "How _dare _you mention his name, you murderer? He was your _family!_"

He sent a flurry of desperate, furious spells at her, no more than a second between each one, bursts of light and magic in a wave of hatred that seemed like it would have no end. Finally, however, he was forced to stop; he swayed a little, breathing hard, and for a moment there was complete silence.

Then a laugh broke it.

"Silly Potter. Even after all this time, the little baby still hasn't learnt that love does nothing but cause you trouble." Bellatrix pouted at him, eyes glinting.

Harry glared. The last thing he wanted was a philosophical discussion with a deranged, vengeful Death Eater.

"Where have you hidden him, Potter, hmm? Come out, come out, Draco!" Bellatrix called to the room, raising her arms as if to welcome someone with a hug. She tilted her head and fixed Harry with a stare. "Not giving him up, I see? _Sectumsempra!"_

Harry dodged the curse with difficulty and growled furiously. "Why keep using that? It doesn't seem your usual style," he snapped forcefully, attempting to turn the words into a insult.

The taunt didn't seem to work. Now amusement glittered in her eyes as well as madness.

"Your clever little professors put a new ward on Hogwarts when they rebuilt it," Bellatrix told him, affecting a little pout of annoyance. "No Unforgivables. Shame, really, I bet you would have loved to practise the Cruciatus, you showed such promise the last time I saw you use it." She threw her head back and cackled.

Harry snarled, taking half a step closer.

Dolohov tensed, but Bellatrix merely raised a finger, as if she were telling off a small child. "Now, now, don't get too hasty. Let Draco's Auntie Bella finish talking." She waited a moment, as if to check he was going to obey. A smile split her face when she realised he was. "So, here I was, no Unforgivables on hand, and a thought popped into my head."

She mimed the process of thinking, putting the index finger of her left hand against her lips and frowning thoughtfully. Harry clenched his jaw, hand tightening around his wand, painfully aware that every second he spent talking instead of fighting, Malfoy got closer and closer to death, hidden under the cloak where any stray curse could hit him.

Dolohov apparently didn't appreciate the waste of time, either, and made to step forwards. "This is ridiculous. Just do what we came here to do, Lestrange, we're running out of time."

Bellatrix threw a disdainful look over her shoulder and bared her teeth. "Don't you dare question me," she hissed, her wand hand flickering as if to move from where it was trained on Harry to being pointed at the Death Eater.

For a moment it looked as if a fight was about to break out between the two of them and Harry almost sent fervent prayers of thanks for his good luck. But then Dolohov made a small sound of disgust and stepped back, apparently giving in, at least for the moment, and Bellatrix's attention returned to Harry.

"So, I was thinking... How much more poetic would it be, if I used precious Severus' spell? Draco still has scars from when you cast it on him, Harry. The symmetry is... pleasing, yes?" Bellatrix's leer was one shade shy of the sort of lunacy that could get a wizard locked in St Mungo's for life.

"You evil _bitch _–" Harry threw the wordless curse as hard as he could – directly at Dolohov.

Throwing up a Shield Charm instantly, he blocked the jet of answering light from Bellatrix, and then felt a thrill of satisfaction when he saw the wizard topple to the ground, stunned and out cold. When the last remaining Death Eater saw her comrades, both on the floor and useless to her, she let out a snarl of rage and turned back to Harry.

Harry's gaze lingered on the others a moment longer. Was it possible that the dark hair of Carrow's disguise was lightening in colour? And was Dolohov getting shorter?

How much longer would their Polyjuice last?

If Harry could just keep her distracted long enough for the potion to run out, then the moment when her own appearance returned to her could prove the perfect opportunity to disarm or stun her. Yes, Carrow was definitely becoming more blonde by the second, and he thought he could detect a darkening of Bellatrix's own eyes. It wouldn't be long now.

"How did you manage it?" Harry burst out, trying the first question he could think of in order to keep her talking. "You made it up here – how?"

"We've been waiting for the perfect moment all year," Bellatrix answered, eyes gleaming. She stood in a half-crouch, wand at the ready, looking more and more like a cornered predator. They were practically circling around each other. "The Forest is hardly comfortable, but when Ginger here," she indicated herself, "came too close, it was the perfect opportunity. And the Potions Master now is much less careful with his ingredients than dear Severus ever was." She spat Snape's name with venom.

Everything started to slot together in Harry's head. "You're the reason all those animals started coming out of the Forest – and you were the one who set the fire spell on Malfoy, you've been behind everything, all year –"

Bellatrix cackled madly. "I was sure the fire would finish him off... But it gave us a bit of a challenge, we've always been up for that... Yes, I've been keeping tabs on my darling nephew. Getting into your precious school tonight was easy; the Aurors are useless. Worse than you, Potter, and they trusted Ginger's face, right up until they found themselves stunned and tied."

Harry cursed inwardly It was stupid, really, that he hadn't wondered where all the Aurors were tonight. He shouldn't have been _able _to get to the Astronomy Tower, but he hadn't seen a single dark-robed Ministry employee since leaving the common room under his Invisibility Cloak. The Death Eaters had apparently been at work, and he hadn't even realised.

"Why tonight?" he made himself ask. The auburn hair of Veronica Hartland was definitely darkening now; it wouldn't be long. "Why did you pick tonight?"

"When my Tracking spell told me that dearest Draco was going for a midnight stroll, I thought we might help him out a little bit." She shot a glare at Harry. "You weren't supposed to get in the way, Potty; we were supposed to find him all by himself."

Harry felt his wandless hand curl into a fist in fury. He didn't dare imagine what the Death Eaters had been planning for Malfoy. The mere idea made him feel both sick and destructive at the same time, and he could feel himself losing control over his temper again –

And then, before he had the chance to do anything, the moment he'd been waiting for arrived.

The first bubble of transformation began under the skin of Veronica Hartland's borrowed face. Just seconds later, Harry caught a glimpse of Bellatrix Lestrange's familiar features underneath.

"No!" she choked, but the effects of the change were starting to show – her skin was moving, her body shifting, and for just a second, her wand dipped.

Harry seized his chance immediately.

"_Expelliarmus!_"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: The Queen of Cliffhangers? *glows* Oh, look, I did it again... with a tiny bit of cuteness for good measure.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

The spell had never failed him before, and it didn't now. With her expression livid and insane, her eyes fixed on him in hatred, and her true features returning to her bit by bit, the red light hit its target. The wand was yanked out of Bellatrix's grip, to spin violently through the air and land on the other side of the tower.

Harry summoned it with a flick of his wand and gripped the wood tightly in his other hand, keeping his wand trained on the woman. She screeched in anger, her expression of loathing marred by her gradual and almost completed return to her true form.

Within seconds, Harry found himself face to face with the real Bellatrix Lestrange.

He wasn't sure he'd ever felt more hatred for anyone before in his life. Staring down at those wide, mad eyes, the familiar visage that had haunted his dreams, at the woman who'd killed his godfather and tried to take Malfoy from him, too, Harry all but shook with fury.

He pointed his wand directly at her, at let his lips twist up into a snarl. His jaw clenched with the effort it took not to yell; as it was, he spat the words as if they were venomous. "Count yourself lucky I can't use any Unforgivables on you, or you'd be dead already."

She pouted, tilting her head, eyes glinting. "I'm not sure itty bitty Potter would dare."

Harry stepped forwards until he could hold the wand like a blade against her throat, leaning in and speaking in a low voice. "Don't place any bets."

Bellatrix cackled, seemingly unconcerned by the threat. "You wouldn't kill me even if you _could _use _Avada Kedavra_. Underneath everything, you're still a frightened little baby."

All Harry could manage in response was a wordless sound of rage.

"Poor, baby Potter, still missing Mummy and Daddy and his godfather," she crooned. "All lonely with no one to love you... I can't imagine what that must be like."

"I'm sure you know," Harry replied through clenched teeth. He could keep himself in check, and really, he knew the best way to hurt her back. "I'm sure you miss your precious Voldemort. You worshipped the ground he stood on, and now..." he trailed off, his meaning clear.

She hissed at that, fury sparking instantly in her eyes, and rushed at him. Wandless, insane, and without any hint of fear. It took Harry an instant before he could register what was happening and respond.

"_Incarcerous!_" he snarled, magical ropes coiling out of the end of his wand. An instant later and she was forced to her knees as the spell bound and disorientated her, pulling her off balance and forcing her arms against her sides so she was all but immobile.

Bellatrix glared at him with nothing short of loathing in her eyes. "You'll regret the day you ever dared say his name!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Will I really?" he spat.

"Draco did." And now she knew she had him. He watched the anger turning into sickening satisfaction. "He does, to this day. And you will too."

Seeing her there, a smirk curving her lips and everything about her seeming to mock him, Harry had the sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to send a _Sectumsempra _her way and make her suffer, just the way she had made countless others suffer. He hadn't forgotten what she'd done to Hermione, and he could never forget the pain of his godfather's loss.

Then he remembered the boy dying behind him, and with an oath that barely hinted at his disgust and regret, Harry sent a stunner directly at her. Bellatrix collapsed, a look of shock gracing her crazed features before her face settled into blankness and she slumped against the stone, still tied.

For a second, Harry just stared at her. Part of him still called for a Dark curse of some kind, to pay her back for what she'd done; other parts were convinced he'd done the right thing. The Ministry would find a way of dealing with her. They'd employed colourful means over the last year in order to punish the other surviving Death Eaters.

And then the invisible tug of the blonde became entirely too much, and all thoughts of vengeance were washed away by panicked and overwhelming concern.

"Malfoy!" Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak away from the prone form on the floor, his horror renewed at the sight of all the blood. There were stains covering his hands and his clothes, Malfoy's blood turning him red wherever it touched him, and the wounds still looked deep and very, very painful. The _Episkey _had done very little to help and he was all too conscious of that. "Malfoy, please, are you still with me?"

"Potter..." His voice was weak, but Harry nearly collapsed with relief when Malfoy stirred and two grey eyes flickered open. He met Harry's gaze with an incredible amount of lucidity.

Harry tried to smile, but he wasn't sure if the expression worked. He could feel himself shaking, feel the weariness encroaching on him and the warm, wet sensation of tears in his eyes. "We're going to get you somewhere safe, okay?" he said, attempting to sound firm and calm.

With that, he slipped one arm under the blonde's shoulders, ignoring the blood that soaked into him, and attempted to grasp him so that he could haul Malfoy into an upright position as painlessly as possible.

"Wait." Malfoy raised a hand weakly to brush ineffectively at Harry's elbow. "Hang on a second."

"What?" Harry panicked, releasing his hold, freezing in case any more movements hurt the blonde. "What's wrong?"

"Just – wait a minute," Malfoy mumbled.

Harry gaped. "_Wait_? Are you serious? Is it the plan to bleed to death?"

Despite his condition, Malfoy rolled his eyes. The gesture seemed natural and well-rehearsed. "Calm the fuck... down, Potter," he drawled, gasping a little halfway through in pain. "I'm not even bleeding... any more. I just wanted a moment."

A moment passed. Resisting the urge to move, or snap angrily that they needed to hurry up and get to someone who knew the right bloody spell, Harry managed to keep the exasperation out of his features, leaving only concern. After what seemed like an age, Malfoy finally spoke.

"I know I... I'm a coward." The Slytherin had his teeth bared, against the pain or something else, it wasn't clear, and his speech was halting and broken as he struggled to talk through it.

Harry shook his head frantically. "Malfoy, you don't need to _prove _yourself to anyone, especially not me. If that's what you're trying to do here –"

"No! No, it's – I have something I need... to tell you."

"You can do that _after _you've been healed, okay? I'll still be around." Harry grasped Malfoy around the waist as carefully as he could with his other arm, avoiding any of the wounds, and attempted to haul the blonde to his feet. He registered surprise at how solid the slender form was.

"Put me the fuck _down_!" the Slytherin snarled, and, with a pitiful strength that nevertheless belied his current condition, he tugged himself out of Harry's arms.

Harry caught him before he could fall, but lowered the blonde to the floor anyway, scared that if he tried to move him again, he would really hurt himself. "You moron, have you got a death wish or something?" he asked furiously.

Malfoy smiled up at him faintly. "You almost... sound like you'd miss me, Potter."

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced his voice to sound calm and collected. "I'm not going to let you die, Malfoy. So say what you have to say, and then I'm getting you to the hospital wing, even if I have to knock you out to get you there."

Malfoy's expression changed to a more intense look of what Harry could only imagine might be wonder or admiration, and suddenly his features looked open and – well, beautiful. He reached up, slowly, and brushed Harry's cheekbone lightly with his fingertips. "You really are a good... good person, you know that?"

Harry didn't reply. His face was, hopefully, curiously blank, concealing his confusion and shock. He felt Malfoy's touch long after his arm had dropped back to his side, a tingling on his skin that refused to leave.

"Ever since that day on the train in our first year, I've always thought about what might've happened if I'd gotten... to you first." Malfoy looked as if he was seeing something other than his immediate surroundings, but then his silver gaze locked fiercely onto Harry's, filled with anguish. "I've turned into someone I never wanted to be. I never properly apologised..."

Harry was still cradling the blonde's head. "It doesn't matter now," he replied gently.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with anger. "Yes it _does_, Potter. I'm sorry. I have to say it. I'm not going to die with – without trying to make things right –"

"You are not going to die." Harry growled, voice firm.

The Slytherin glanced sideways at him, apparently amused. "Not even the Chosen One can save... someone who's lost this much blood." He coughed and the smile was wiped off his face to be replaced by a grimace of pain.

Harry tried to talk, tried to insist that they needed to leave _now_, but the blonde held up one finger to stop him. His hand shook with the effort. "My point is, I know that I fucked up. I've never been... able to deal with you, you were the only person who always knew how to get under my skin. And it was my fault we spent so many years hating each other. I didn't know how to... manage it any other way."

"Because you're an idiot." Harry told him. "With a death wish."

The blonde laughed, his eyes widening in pain and the sound turning to a gasp as the movement hurt him. He recovered himself and sighed. "Just my luck. We have our first... real conversation, and I spoil it by dying."

"You won't die. You won't. I'll keep you safe." Harry's voice broke. He could feel the prickling of tears in his eyes again, and was trying to swallow past a lump in his throat.

He thought that the Slytherin could tell how close he was to tears. The blonde smirked, that expression that Harry thought he had known since the dawn of the universe. But for the first time, he was _included_. He was invited to join in. And it felt right.

Malfoy's voice was lilting when he spoke, almost mocking, but somehow it sounded genuine to Harry, no trace of sarcasm in it. And his own eyes looked suspiciously bright, although that could have been from pain.

"It was nice knowing you, _Potter_."

And then, silver eyes rolling back into his head, he shuddered and went limp.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Four days in Berlin with no internet really does mess up my writing and updating schedule. Over a week? I am really sorry!**

**About this chapter... I know I'm mean. But, silver lining: it's the last real cliffhanger, I think :P**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>

"Help him!" Harry's voice was nearly a scream. "Someone, please, _help him_!"

He was kicking the doors to the hospital wing aside, cradling the limp form of Draco Malfoy to his chest. He didn't know, and never would, how he'd run all the way from the Astronomy Tower carrying the blonde. All he knew was the mind-numbing panic. It overshadowed everything else and he'd never felt anything like it in his life before; from the moment the grey eyes had shut, they'd taken with them all vestiges of Harry's rationality. Malfoy needed help, or he would die.

He was screaming again, utterly desperate, but this time his own words escaped him. Then he was laying Malfoy's body on the nearest bed, feeling a thrill of horror when he saw just how pale the smooth skin was, his motions impossibly gentle in comparison to his hoarse cries for help.

Then a familiar figure was there.

"_Sectumsempra_," he was explaining hysterically to a grim-faced Madam Pomfrey. "Death Eaters in Hogwarts. You have to help him. There was so much blood..."

Then the hospital wing seemed to come alive with people. There were figures everywhere, and Madam Pomfrey was barking orders, and Harry thought he saw the wounds on Malfoy's body closing up but he wasn't sure because someone had yanked him aside –

"I don't need healing!" he found himself objecting furiously, trying to pull away and get as close to the blonde as he could. But strong hands had hold of him, and spells were being sent his way. He hurt, and potions were being coaxed down his throat, but he couldn't concentrate on anything except the image of Malfoy shuddering into unconsciousness in his arms. It replayed over and over in his mind.

He shouldered his way out of the circle of people surrounding him. Staff, Aurors, a Healer he didn't recognise; possibly someone from St Mungo's. He couldn't fathom why anyone was helping _him _when Malfoy was dying. Harry didn't matter, but Malfoy had to live. People were talking at him, asking questions; he thought they wanted to know what had happened. He didn't care. Only one thing was important right now.

Within seconds he was beside the blonde's bed, and he could see him. There was still too much blood, he was still too pale, and then Harry was being forced away from him by multiple pairs of hands. He thought he felt the coolness of tears on his cheeks.

"Mr Potter, I'm sorry – you have to leave."

"No! No, I need to know that he's okay, I need to be here!" He couldn't think of anything but the frantic horror of it all, his breathing shallow, the vital, undeniable instinct to _stay_ tugging uncontrollably at him.

The witch who'd spoken was clamping down on his shoulders in an iron grip. "You are in the way," was the harsh reply, but then her face softened. "We'll tell you if anything... changes, I promise."

The next thing Harry knew, he was alone and no one was paying him any attention at all, in the dark corner of the hospital wing.

He closed his eyes and saw silver. He opened them and saw nothing. He briefly managed a semi-coherent thought – that silver was better than nothing, and he really did like silver, and he didn't quite know what he'd do without it. His eyes fluttered shut again.

Then Harry's body lost the ability to support him, and he was sliding down the wall until he was curled with his back pressed against the stone. He didn't want sleep. He didn't want healing. He didn't want to talk to the Aurors, who by now would be waiting desperately to ask questions.

All he wanted was to see a smirk, a sneer, a smile, a glare... _life_, on Malfoy's face. He wanted – no, he _needed_ – the infuriating bastard to be okay.

Choking back a sob, Harry buried his face in his arms and tried not to think, while the boy he was supposed to protect lay just out of his reach.

* * *

><p><em>He walked through the forest with the manner of someone who has been defeated. The world felt heavy on his shoulders. He didn't want the world. He didn't want to the world to want him, either. There was only one thing he wanted and it was being taken from him.<em>

_He thought it might be taking his heart with it._

_Between the trees ahead, glimpses of a figure taunted him. A figure that he knew all too well. Silver. White. Ethereal beauty._

_Protect the boy. He's silver and white and she hurt him._

"_Stay with me," he pleaded softly. He couldn't get closer; the trees wouldn't let him. Dark silhouettes, not shielding or harming. Just there. But enough that he couldn't reach the boy._

_A voice. Too familiar. Painfully familiar. "And if I can't?"_

"_You have to. I need you."_

_Disdain, now. "I needed you, and you weren't there."_

_He felt a crushing sense of sorrow. "I know. I tried."_

"_Yes, you tried. You held back the shadows so they couldn't touch _you_. But look at me – look at me! The shadows found me. They took me. They hold me here; what if they don't let me stay with you?"_

"_I'll follow you," he told the boy resolutely. "If they take you, then they can take me with you."_

_He remembered what it felt like to touch the shadows. A cloak of darkness that took the breath from your body, the chilling black horror of it. The face. The twisted, mad, cackling face that embodied the shadows, the one that was leeching the silver from the world he lived in._

_He only caught glimpses of the boy through the trees, but he thought he might have seen a smile. "You are very brave."_

"You _are brave. I'm weak."_

"_I don't pity the weak. I pity the strong. Strength is the harder path."_

_It sounded like something he had heard before. He knew it was true, but he didn't know _how _he knew._

_The trees still hid the silver from him. The light seemed to be retreating, and he panicked - what if it took the silver with it? What if it took his heart with it?_

_His worst fear. His failure. "The shadows are here." _

_A soft sigh._

_Darkness. Blackness. A flicker of fear._

_Protect him – she hurt him – she's taking him away –_

_Then the voice of insanity, one last time, as the tendrils of darkness reached out and hid the figure. The boy he was supposed to protect._

"_Did you _love _him, little baby Potter?"_

* * *

><p>"Well?" A shaking question of trepidation and badly-concealed hope.<p>

The voice that replied was soft, a mix of apology and resignation, the kind that had the power to make your stomach drop before you even heard the full extent of the message it carried.

"We couldn't save him. I'm sorry."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I am an awful writer. It's been over two months since I last updated. I hate to use this as an excuse but real life really does get in the way :/ It may be a while before I can get the next one out, but since this chapter is written, I might as well let you all read it.  
>I'd also like to thank everyone who reviews this fic - you lovely people have given me over 100 reviews! :D<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>

"You couldn't...? But – _damn _it."

Madam Pomfrey shrugged. "What can I say? He jumped from the Astronomy Tower. I can only assume that Mr Potter's _Incarcerous _wasn't quite as effective as he'd thought."

Harry blinked tiredly and rubbed his eyes. He glanced from the Auror to the motherly witch, a small frown furrowing his brow. "There's still Carrow," he said flatly.

It didn't bother him at all that Dolohov was dead. In fact, he found it quite satisfying; the only fate that he thought the Death Eater had been more deserving of was the Dementor's Kiss. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that Alecto Carrow, once all her knowledge had been wrung from her, would suffer that fate instead.

Bellatrix Lestrange, however, had been subjected to the Kiss as soon as she could be taken somewhere secure. Harry had never approved of keeping the Dementors on at Azkaban, but this was the best justification for it he could see. If _she'd _gotten away with a mad leap off the Astronomy Tower, he thought he might have had to follow her in shame. In fact, having her soul leeched out of her body was possibly not even horrific enough to make up for what she'd done – but Harry doubted there was anything that was.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," the Auror sighed. He was the one who appeared to be in charge of this whole disaster. Harry felt sorry for him; this had hardly gone according to plan, after all. Death Eaters hiding in the Forbidden Forest and attacking students on his watch were hardly likely to advance his career.

The witch nodded brusquely but her tone was sympathetic. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you better news."

"No, no, it's not your fault," the man replied tired, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. Thank you for your time."

Harry watched the man leave with a small scowl on his face. When the doors to the hospital wing were closed, he turned to Madam Pomfrey, who was working efficiently over Draco Malfoy.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" he asked her earnestly.

She turned to him, pausing in her efforts to roll her eyes. "Mr Potter, it's only been three days. Have some patience; Mr Malfoy lost a lot of blood and his recovery will be slow." She frowned. "And won't you please take one of the beds, if you insist on staying here? Sleeping in the chair cannot be remotely comfortable."

Harry gave her a small smile. She'd been asking that of him ever since the first night; he just couldn't bear to be any further away from the blonde than he had to be. Irrationally, he still felt as if his job wasn't finished, that he was still required to protect Malfoy. "Sorry," he told her wryly.

With another roll of her eyes, she hurried away, no doubt to attend to one of her other patients.

Harry turned to look at the sleeping blonde. Malfoy looked unbelievably fragile, his pale skin so lacking in colour that if it hadn't been for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Harry might have thought he was a corpse. The only signs of life other than breathing had been the occasional twitch of his fingers, and small sounds of discomfort; Harry didn't bother reporting these to Madam Pomfrey any more. It was too much like the boy who cried wolf, and she'd asked him several times by now to stop being so melodramatic and leave her alone.

However, at least everyone had given up trying to pry him from Malfoy's side. Several times on the first day, Aurors had attempted to pull him away for questioning, and every time he'd refused to move further than a couple of metres away, only consenting to travel that distance for fear of disturbing the sleeping Slytherin. They had no real reason to complain about that, but Harry felt that it had annoyed them, and the following two days they hadn't tried such a thing. He didn't care. He'd told them everything he remembered the first time he'd spoken to them, and couldn't understand why there'd been such an insistence to go back for more, as if they thought he was withholding information.

The media were even more distraught. Madam Pomfrey adamantly refused to let any reporters or photographers into the hospital wing, and Harry refused to leave; all the unfortunate souls who'd been hoping for an interview were utterly disappointed. Harry had managed to get hold of the _Daily Prophet _the day after the event and was not surprised to note that the Death Eaters at Hogwarts story had taken over the front page in a big way. With a disgusted noise at the way he'd been painted – "Boy Who Lived saves school again, in a heroic rescue and brave battle against former supports of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" – he'd thrown the paper onto the table by the side of Malfoy's hospital bed and not picked it up since, using it instead as a coaster for the jug of water kept there.

Ron and Hermione had also visited frequently. They appeared almost every mealtime to bring him food, with bright smiles and the occasional mention of what was happening in the rest of the school that he was so oblivious to. They always enquired cautiously into Malfoy's condition, although from the expression on Ron's face, he hadn't really meant it when he'd declared that he hoped the blonde woke up soon. Harry found he didn't mind; he was just thankful that they no longer tried to persuade him to return to lessons or the common room with them. Ever since he'd shattered one of the windows in a burst of temper, even Hermione had decided it was better off to leave it.

Malfoy's own friends had been a lot less generous with their time, although with the blonde unconscious, Harry supposed he didn't expect them to spend all that much time in the hospital wing with just him as company. The half an hour or so they'd spent by Malfoy's side had been a very strange experience. Although he'd backed away a safe distance, kept the bed as a buffer between him and the Slytherins and buried his nose in the nearest book he could find, it was still somewhat awkward. In fact, from the moment he'd seen Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson approaching, Harry had steeled himself automatically for a fight or an argument, sure that they wouldn't appreciate his presence there but convinced that nothing would make him shift.

But while Parkinson had glared viciously at him the entire time, Zabini had actually given him a smile, offered congratulations and thanked him. "Oh, and Potter," he'd added seriously, "Draco will be more grateful than either of you realise when he wakes up. Remember that." And then he'd pulled Parkinson out of the hospital wing, leaving behind the card and chocolates they'd brought for Malfoy without waiting for a reply. Harry had reflected in bemusement that Slytherins were really very strange and he was extremely glad he'd persuaded the Sorting Hat to put him in Gryffindor.

Harry shook his head at the thought, giving a small snort of laughter, followed by a sigh. He leant forward in his chair towards Malfoy. With a frown, he tentatively brushed a strand of blonde hair out of the Slytherin's face, seeing yet again how vulnerable he looked in sleep and feeling unable to decide whether or not that was a good thing. He was so used to seeing that face alive, proud and haughty, that a childlike, innocent-looking Draco Malfoy seemed fundamentally wrong somehow. And yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but register that without the sneer, Malfoy really was quite beautiful.

Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange had deserved everything she'd gotten, and more. Seeing Malfoy's fragile form, all but motionless, still suffering as he fought to recover... Harry thought the sight might even have convinced him to forgive himself if he _had _levelled something other than a Stunner at her.

"No one will hurt you again."

Harry was surprised by the intensity of his own voice. It was low and quiet, but so forceful he found it hard to believe it had come from him, unaffected by the sudden choking sensation of tears that he found was constricting his throat. His hand found the unresponsive blonde's, gripping it as hard as he dared without feeling like he would shatter the sleeping Malfoy, trying to impart the promise in every way he could. "Never again."

"I'm glad to see you aren't letting yourself get behind on schoolwork."

Harry looked up, jolted from the parchment he'd been poring over, to meet the steady gaze of Professor McGonagall. A small smile of amusement twitched at the corner of her mouth, and she looked down at him with an expression that was almost fond.

Harry nodded politely. "I don't have much else to do in here."

She inclined her head. "True. How is he?"

It took him a second to collect himself and realise to whom she was referring. "Oh – yes, he's recovering. He's still not woken up but Madam Pomfrey said that's to be expected, and that in a Muggle hospital it's likely he wouldn't have made it. He's had to take a lot of Blood-Replenishing Potion and his body still needs sleep to heal properly."

She nodded sedately and then sighed, lowering herself into the nearest chair even as she conjured a cushion for the seat a flick of with her wand. "Mr Potter, I believe apologies are in order."

Harry frowned. "Professor?"

McGonagall looked vaguely pained. "I assured you that I would keep a close eye on Mr Malfoy. As proved, however," she gestured widely, "I have apparently not done my job."

He started to reply. "No, I don't think –"

She raised one hand to silence him, and Harry's sentence cut off. "I promise that I will not be so foolish again. The culprit within school will find themselves with more detentions than they know what to do with. I only wish that the task of taking on the real danger hadn't fall to yourself."

Harry gave her a tired smile. "It really doesn't matter, Professor. I wouldn't have believed me, either."

McGonagall frowned, lifting her chin regally. "I fear that Albus would have seen sense. He always trusted you and I made the near-fatal mistake – for Mr Malfoy, at least – of underestimating you. I'm sorry for that."

A wave of gratitude swept over him at her words, and Harry just smiled again to convey his acceptance.

"Of course, you have yet again broken school rules," she continued, one eyebrow raised, but the corner of her lip quirked and softened the severe expression. "However, I believe it would be appropriate to waive your punishment, in light of what you have achieved. Mr Potter, you have done Hogwarts yet another great service. Duelling three fully-grown Dark wizards is not something that most witches or wizards your age would have been capable of; I know your parents would have been proud, Harry."

"I hope so," Harry murmured thoughtfully. "Thank you, Professor." He added the last a little louder, with a polite glance in the Headmistress' direction. She returned the look before standing up and turning her gaze to the sleeping Draco Malfoy. McGonagall sighed.

"I had hoped the days of seeing Hogwarts students injured by dark forces were over. It seems I was wrong." She shook her head sadly.

"They'll be over now," Harry said confidently. "Now that the Death Eaters are gone – all the ones who were competent with a wand, anyway."

"For the sake of the school I pray you are correct." McGonagall fixed him with a beady gaze. "I doubt the governors will be happy with this."

Harry's eyes widened, the meaning in her words not escaping him. "They won't close Hogwarts, surely?"

Her sombre expression lifted and she gave him what could only be described as a grin. "I am sure, Mr Potter, that we will find the means to carry on. It's always been our way." Harry chuckled in agreement at that. "Anyway, I shall let both of you rest. Do get some sleep, and give Mr Malfoy my best wishes when he wakes."

And with a last nod towards Harry, and a smile for Madam Pomfrey who was at the other end of the hospital wing, McGonagall swept from the room.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Lots of stuff explained here ;) I know some people noticed the little hints in earlier chapters, and well done to them! Sorry again for the time it took to get the last chapter to you. I'm aiming to be a little bit better from now on (famous last words...).**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>

It was not much more than a day later when Malfoy finally woke up.

The hospital wing was darkened. The other inhabitants were asleep, and Harry himself was dozing lightly on the very edge of unconsciousness. Yet again he was slumped in his chair by the Slytherin's beside, the book he'd been reading draped open across his chest, when he was suddenly startled into wakefulness.

At first he wasn't sure what had jolted him out of sleep. His wand was in his hand instantly, the product of a year as the most hunted wizard in Britain, but he couldn't see anyone in the dimly-lit room and he gradually relaxed as he realised no one was attacking. He leant back in his chair with a sigh, a frown creasing his face.

Harry's gaze drifted to Malfoy, still lying unmoving on the hospital bed. The blonde looked... better? Maybe the Slytherin might be breathing a little more deeply now than he had before. Harry reached out to smooth a lock of blonde hair from Malfoy's face, brushing his cheek softly as he pulled away, and bit his lip; the pale skin was cold, unnaturally so. Maybe he should find him another blanket, or perhaps fetch Madam Pomfrey –

Malfoy's eyelids fluttered.

Harry froze. Had he imagined that, or was the blonde finally waking up?

His uncertainty was chased away a moment later, as Malfoy's lips twitched and he gave a small groan, soft and unobtrusive but undeniably audible.

Harry's mind was little more than a frantic swirl of questions, unable to do more than silently panic. Was something wrong? Was Malfoy in pain? Should he go fetch help? Was the blonde _dying_?

Then, before Harry could become completely incapacitated by the babble in his head, Malfoy's silver eyes half-opened again, his breath huffing out in discomfort, confirming it: he was coming round. He was fine, he was alive, and Harry felt weak with relief, as if he'd been holding his breath ever since the spell that had put Malfoy in this state had been cast.

A searching grey gaze travelled slowly, slightly unfocused, around the room, taking in the surroundings cautiously. The ceiling of the hospital wing; the table with the jug of water and the Slytherins' get well soon card; the bedsheets.

And then Malfoy saw him.

"Hey," Harry tried to smile, not sure why there was a lump in his throat or a prickling in his eyes. He leant forward a little, not fully believing what he was seeing, stomach a bundle of nerves.

For a second, Malfoy simply stared at him, expression completely blank. Then he blushed, the first hint of colour in his cheeks for days, and his gaze dropped. "Potter," he said quietly.

Harry shifted awkwardly. "Yeah."

It appeared as if the Slytherin were going to say something, his shoulders almost appearing squared as if for some sort of fight. Then the tension dropped, and he sighed. "I was going to ask why you're here, Gryffindork, but on second thoughts I really don't care."

"How do you feel?" Harry asked encouragingly.

"Like I've just been run over by the fucking Knight Bus," Malfoy muttered. He attempted to move, shifting into a more upright position and promptly groaning at the pain.

Harry put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "I'm not surprised."

Malfoy started at his touch, eyes flickering in surprise up to Harry's before sliding awkwardly away again. "How long was I out?"

"Three days, give or take a few hours. You did take an impressive swing at me when Madam Pomfrey was applying the Dittany the second time round, but I'm pretty sure you were unconscious," Harry told him, grimacing as the ghost of the bruise on his left cheekbone twinged at the reminder. It hadn't even been worth the time; Dittany only worked on _Sectumsempra_ wounds if applied immediately, but Madam Pomfrey had declared imperiously that they may as well try.

The Slytherin's expression tightened at the mention of Dittany. "Scars?" he asked softly, one hand going automatically to the collar of his hospital gown.

Harry found himself biting his lip before he managed to blurt out the words. He still felt responsible; if he'd known the correct counter-curse, if he'd gotten Malfoy to the hospital wing sooner, it could have been avoided. "Three. One on your right thigh, two on your chest, here and here," he said, hearing the regret in his voice as he drew lines on himself, one on his ribcage and the other near his collarbone. "You already had one, from – from sixth year."

They both went quiet at the mention of the incident, and an uncomfortable silence descended. Harry pretended that he'd developed a sudden interest in his nail beds.

Truth be told, alluding to the hideous events back in their sixth year made Harry nervous. He didn't want Malfoy to be reminded of the strength of their enmity, not if it would eclipse the good he'd done by helping the Slytherin. For some reason it felt important, vitally important, that they managed to get on better terms.

"Potter?" Malfoy spoke hesitantly, brows knitted. Harry jumped, roused from thought, and turned to him, blinking rapidly behind his glasses.

Malfoy looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm..." He took a deep breath, as if summoning courage from somewhere. "Thank you. You're an idiot, but I owe you my life. Again."

"Ah." Harry shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Malfoy's grudging thanks, Zabini's words coming back to him. _More grateful than either of you know_. "You're welcome."

Malfoy nodded minutely, then relaxed into the mattress and sighed, as if grateful that the difficult part was over. "Since I'm sure you're dying to tell me, Potter... What happened?"

Harry didn't need to ask to know what the Slytherin was referring to. "Dolohov's dead, but they questioned Carrow. She eventually told them everything. Lestrange went straight to the Dementors."

A light shudder rippled through the blonde's frame and Harry felt a twinge of regret at the bluntness of his words; Bellatrix had still been, despite everything, Malfoy's aunt. But then the pale lips curled up into a sneer of derision. "Good."

Harry offered him a wan smile, and was surprised when the expression was returned with enthusiasm. There was a molten warmth in the grey eyes that was both fierce and encouraging.

"How did they get into the castle? With all the Aurors?"

"Polyjuice. Apparently the three of them were hiding out in the Forbidden Forest for most of the year – they knew about spots that the anti-Apparition wards didn't cover – and they've been stealing ingredients. Carrow said that they had an Auror under the Imperius; she let them in."

"How? There's an anti-Unforgiveable ward on Hogwarts grounds."

Harry grimaced. "If the Imperius is cast outside of the wards, then the spell works inside them. It's only casting that's nullified."

Malfoy cursed under his breath. "Wonderful. Some fucking wards."

Harry just pursed his lips in agreement. "Unfortunately, the wards don't block Tracking spells, either. Madam Pomfrey found one attached to you, cast by Lestrange, she thinks. She was able to remove it."

The blonde rolled his eyes and dropped his head back against the pillow, his manner almost weary. "Equally fantastic."

Harry nodded absently and turned to gaze at the card on the bedside table. For a Get Well Soon card, it was fairly sombre; he supposed it was just Slytherin tendencies. It probably wasn't helped by the fact that it stood there alone – one single, solitary card, from Malfoy's two friends. Presumably, his only real friends. Nothing even from his mother...

Harry suddenly felt a rush of pity and comradeship for Malfoy. It wasn't fair, he knew, for someone to have nearly died, and for no one to have cared. Maybe in the past, Malfoy had fucked up. Maybe he'd been on the wrong team, watched and participated in some horrific things. But he'd lowered the wand that he'd pointed at Dumbledore. He hadn't given Harry away, back at the Manor in Wiltshire during their year on the run. He'd come back to Hogwarts for his eighth year, perhaps not with his head held high as he once would have done, but not exactly with his tail between his legs. He'd just quietly continued with his education, as peacefully as possible.

No, Harry realised. The Slytherin had acted, and was acting, surprisingly and admirably _Gryffindor_.

Not that he would appreciate the sentiment, of course.

"Zabini and Parkinson visited you," Harry said suddenly, overwhelmed with a need for Malfoy to know that someone cared.

The blonde raised a haughty eyebrow at him. "Were you here, or did you just poke your Gryffindor nose into my business and read the card?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry replied dryly. "I was fortunate enough to be here."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm disappointed I slept through the meeting."

"Actually, they were civil," Harry told him matter-of-factly. "More so than you seem capable of being."

The Slytherin frowned. "In that case, I need to have a word with them. They were _supposed _to hex your scrawny little arse into next week."

The corner of Harry's lip quirked despite himself. Somehow, words that just a few years ago would have been biting and malicious just didn't hold the same weight they used to.

"You had better not be laughing at me, you Golden Prat," Malfoy said snarkily, but there was a faint undercurrent of amusement in his voice that told Harry he was joking. "I am an invalid here."

"Anyone who can be sarcastic is not an invalid."

"I'm a Malfoy," the blonde replied pompously. "And we retain a natural talent for sarcasm, no matter the situation. Just because you're completely useless, does not mean that I am too."

Harry tried to frown, but his smile was taking over. "Be careful, or I'll regret having saved you."

"You would have missed me, Potter," Malfoy told him archly.

So suddenly it felt like a rug being pulled out from underneath him, all the light-heartedness of the conversation dissipated. Harry felt a soft smile devoid of humour tugging at his lips, and a wave of gentle sadness swept over him. "Yeah," he agreed, his whisper almost inaudible.

He would never quite understand why he did what he did next. Eyelids fluttering closed for a brief second, following an impulse that won out against logic and common sense, Harry leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to Malfoy's cheek.

There was a second of complete silence and stillness, grey eyes on green, wide and shocked.

And then, with his face burning and his heart pounding, Harry all but ran out of the hospital wing.


End file.
